


Proximity

by letterbomb98



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Fred Weasley Gives Her One, Fred Weasley Lives, Friends to Lovers, George Weasley is a Good Bro, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger Needs a Hug, Magical Accidents, Magical Bond, Magical Tattoos, Not a Slow Burn so Much as it is Leaving Your Hand on a Hot Plate and Saying Ow, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22102555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterbomb98/pseuds/letterbomb98
Summary: Hermione's life after the war was empty. She repeatedly put her life on the line to feel what it was like to live again. She didn't expect her life to get a second chance. And why does it involve a certain Weasley twin?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 30
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger could pinpoint the exact turn of events that led her to this moment, bound and gagged on the cold stone floor of a remote cave. Some would say it was a way to deal with her survivor’s guilt, others would say it was typical Gryffindor heroics. Hermione would say it was vengeance, that it was her duty to avenge those she left behind. No matter what it was, she still felt empty each time.

It started simple enough, Kingsley arrived a few months after the war and offered Harry, Ron and her places in the Ministry, more specifically, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as aurors. She turned down the offer, planning on returning to Hogwarts and finishing her NEWTs before applying to the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Harry didn’t hesitate to take Kingsley’s offer, follow in his father’s footsteps, and finish this war once and for all. Ron, naturally, followed Harry’s example. Hermione was inwardly relieved when he did, Ron had become a shell of what he was in his grief. Not to mention the lackluster snogging he tried to fill his void with. She tried to be there for him, she really did, but somewhere along the way her puppy love ran out.

Everything seemed to be going fine. The boys were training, and she and Ginny were studying for NEWTs at Hogwarts which had been magically rebuilt. Even still, she often felt useless, and the cold hands of grief gripped her in a vice every day. Her nightmares were constant. She relived everything at night, every curse, every scar, every death, all over again. She’d just bury the feeling under books and studying – anything to keep her mind occupied. She felt that she needed something, there was an undeniable urge and an empty space in her to fill, but she didn’t know how to solve it. Not knowing was something very new to her.

It wasn’t until Harry brought home a very pale, trembling Ron in the middle of Christmas break that Hermione found what she needed. Ron had taken one moment in the field before crumbling under extreme PTSD flashbacks, so Hermione took his place – Harry needed a partner he trusted after all. She jumped at the chance to leave Hogwarts early, she saw those hallways in her dreams every night, seeing them during the day only brought her more pain. She excelled in training like she did everything else, the fight made her feel like she was doing something worthwhile, filling that void if only for the moment.

Their first true assignment came in the form of Antonin Dolohov. He was hiding somewhere in Russia, and they were tasked to track him down and bring him in. She had read the name and a slow smirk formed on her face. The image of Remus Lupin’s cold, pale, lifeless body lying motionless in the great hall was plastered on the back of her eyelids, and she remembered the purple fire charm in great detail. If her nightmares would ever let her forget, the jagged purple scar crossing her torso wouldn’t. The DMLE didn’t specify what condition to bring the death eater in in after all.

It was easy. They didn’t question his injuries, just his crimes. He was locked away in Azkaban after a smooth trial, but where Harry felt triumph in his accomplishment, Hermione still felt incomplete. So she made a list of every outstanding death eater and what horrible, most of the time personal, atrocity they’d committed. She checked off each one, every time she’d avenge someone. It was never enough. She still felt the empty void gnawing at her.

It had been a little over a year since the Final Battle, and she was quickly becoming the best auror in the department. Almost her entire list was checked off as she was nothing if not organized and efficient. She’d gone by herself this time - nothing she hadn’t done before. Harry always scolded her for endangering herself, but even still, he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his features at watching her check off another name. She’d been tracking this one for a while, he never stayed in the same place too long and obliviated anyone who saw him. She’d tracked him to a remote cave in Iceland, she thought she could take him by surprise, but in her haste, she underestimated him again.

So there she was, bound and gagged, in the depths of a dank cave, the cold from the stone floor seeping through her layers, listening to the certifiably insane man explain an elaborate plan. She internally cursed herself for being so foolish. No one knew where she was, this was to be a quick in and out job that would be a brilliant surprise for the Weasley family. She thought that maybe this one would be enough for her to let go finally. After all, she was in the corridor when it happened, she watched the light leave his mirth-filled eyes, she watched Percy chase this man in his regret-filled rage.

She hoped that bringing in Augustus Rookwood would alleviate the pain in her chest she feels when she thinks of Fred. When she thinks of the day George broke all the mirrors in the house. When she thinks of Percy’s confession of wishing it was him instead. When she heard Mrs. Weasley call George ‘Fred’ and broke down in violent shoulder-jerking sobs. When she caught Mr. Weasley staring at his son’s spoon that had fallen off the clock. When she hears Ginny’s muffled cries for her brother at night, and Ron drinking that extra glass of Firewhiskey, and sees Bill avoid looking at George, and how Charlie didn’t even come home for Christmas. Or when Harry notices all of it and apologizes as if he was that one that sent the wall crumbling.

“You hear that, Mudblood?” Rookwood’s raspy voice addressing her brings her out of her inner musings. “You’re going to help us, hmm? Yes, yes, yes, yes.” He muttered trailing off.

She rolled her eyes and looked around. His back was turned, he was fiddling with something in his tattered bag. A small fire was crackling and popping but offered no warmth; his shadow was thrown on the wall, flickering. She was happy to find that the lunatic didn’t even take her wand. She mentally scoffed at his incompetence. If only she could reach it. She stretched her arm against the restraint on her wrists, reaching down toward her disillusioned thigh holster. The built-in armor on her auror standard, skin-tight dragon hide pants and matching jacket was unforgiving and didn’t allow her purchase.

“Ah, ah, ah. Not yet, Muggle.” Rookwood asked after turning around, but did not take her wand. She figured he must be more insane than she thought. She hoped this didn’t give him the right to plea insanity in trial. That wouldn’t bring anyone closure, it would only make things worse.

He calmly walked closer to where she half-lay, half-sat against the stone wall and began his disjointed explanation.

“I’m not happy, no, no, no, no, not happy. My Lord will be so pleased with me when my plan works. He will know who helped him, who deserves his praise. Not the Malfoys this time, no, no, no, no.”

He trailed off muttering about traitors before his gaze set on her once more. “You’re going to help us, Mudblood, imagine how pleased my Lord will be when he sees that his most loyal follower sent him Potter’s whore and all the information to win. Yes, yes, yes he will reward me so-“

He paused in his speech and began whispering “Patience” over and over while fumbling through his robes and pulling out his trinket and smiling with a mouth full filthy, rotted teeth. She froze, eyes never leaving the hourglass on the gold chain and the baby blue sand that lies inside. She began reaching in earnest for her wand, ignoring the pain in her wrists from the restraints. Eyes so focused on the hourglass, she did not fail to notice the crack in the glass, leaking an almost imperceptible stream of sky blue sand.

“Oh yes, you see, I worked in the Department of Mysteries for years, imagine my glee when I found them making this.” He held up the Time Turner and both sets of eyes watched it swing back and forth like a pendulum. “Hmm, your little stunt with all your friends in the Time Room didn’t prevent this, no.”

She couldn’t help but wish it had. This man was unhinged and dead set on doing something rash, she needed to get control of this situation immediately.

“Light blue sand is peculiar, they said, very, very, very peculiar indeed. The Sands of Purpose they called it.” His eyes darted to hers with a manic gleam. “Do you know what my purpose is, Muddy?”

He fumbled with the chain untangling it and throwing it around her tense form.

“They called you bright, that Potter’s Mudblood whore was supposed to be bright, bright, bright. You can’t even tell me what my purpose is, how can you be bright?” He muttered while turning the nobs on the device not noticing or not caring about Hermione’s struggling.

“You don’t have to be bright to bring the victory of the war.” He laughed hysterically stepping back.

Hermione was hyperventilating. The prototype time-turner was going off, if what the muttering fool was to be believed she was about to be sent to the doorstep of the Dark Lord once again.

She took one last fleeting look at the ragged murderer before disappearing in a whirlwind of flashing white and baby blue light. She heard the explosion of the device before she felt it. Her stomach where the instrument rested was on fire, it was infinitely worse than Bellatrix’s knife ever was. She screamed. The nausea turning underneath the pain was violent compared to her third year experience with time travel. Somewhere along the way she passed out.

She fleeting thought was of her failure in avenging the red-headed prankster she used to scold.


	2. Chapter 2

When she came to, she first noticed the softness underneath her prone form. Then came the pain in her stomach and the nausea turning inside. She groaned softly and heard a warbled voice. She had expected the death eaters to throw her in the dungeons, not put her in a bed. Unless they planned to torture her _that_ way. She paled at the thought and her stomach lurched violently.

She cracked an eye open to scan her surroundings, and came face to face with a head of red hair and swirling mocha eyes. _George._ Maybe it was a dream. She was eternally grateful and very much relieved that she hadn’t actually been sent back, otherwise she’d be in the middle of a torture session.

“George? What am I doing here?” She croaked through her raw throat. She took in the small bedroom, and she assumed they were currently at his flat. Various charms and potions books littered every available surface as well as overstock products they’d made. He must have turned an office into a guest room/storage room. She saw her jacket hanging on a chair in the corner along with her wand and felt relieved. He conjured a glass of water for her and she drank it eagerly.

“It’s Fred, Granger, you must’ve hit your head harder than we thought.” The red-head said with amusement dancing on his voice despite the worry she could see hiding in his features. She felt that familiar pain in her chest, wishing his sentence was true.

“George, that’s not funny, you of all people should know why.” She admonished, angry he was pulling this kind of joke.

Neither of the two noticed the baby blue tendrils swirling between the two, wrapping around both of their midsections and bleeding into the flesh underneath their clothes before fading away.

“That joke will never get old. Look, at least I still have both my ears.” To prove it he flicked both his earlobes.

Hermione was getting angrier, she’d deal with the sadness later. She couldn’t believe George would do this, go so far for this awful prank. She had just opened her mouth to tell him so when the door to the tiny bedroom opened.

“Fred, we just got a patronus asking us if we’d seen Granger. Apparently, they’re staying at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur, but she disappeared.”

Hermione had gone still with shock. In the room were two Georges, except the one that had come through the door was clearly missing an ear. She turned back to the twin sitting next to her and a chill ran down her spine.

His attention was on George. “We should tell them she ended up here. Keep them from worrying.”

George then noticed that she was awake, looking past how pale she was and obvious shock on her features, he spoke. “Granger, finally awake, I see.”

He walked around to the bedside table and began rummaging through a bag of medical supplies.

“What day is it?” She whispered.

“Fourth of April, you’ve been out for a few hours-“ Fred answered while retrieving bandages from his brother’s hands.

“What year?” Hermione cut him off, her panic building. Both men looked at her curiously, stopping their actions.

“1998, Granger-“

“-how hard did you hit your head?” George finished reaching for her head to feel for a bump.

She batted him away and put her head in her hands. The crazy fool had done it, he sent her back in time. But why wasn’t she the honorary guest to Voldemort right now? That was Rookwood’s purpose, if his explanation on the Sands of Purpose was true. She wondered what became of that time-turner. She uncovered her face and ignored the twins’ looks of confusion while reaching down and slowly pulling up her tattered white under shirt.

Both boys gasped and returned to their medical supplies with quick movements retrieving necessary potions and supplies feeling guilty that they didn’t notice her injury before. Her stomach was seeping blood from various cuts made by the glass. Metal and blue sand was embedded in her skin from the force of the explosion.

As the twins worked picking pieces of the device out and healing her mangled skin, she thought about her situation. She was sent a year back in time, right before the Final Battle. Right now she was supposed to be recovering at Shell Cottage from her time at Malfoy Manor. She recalled George’s statement about her going missing from her recovery bed. Did that mean things were subject to change? If she had no counterpart, she could do things differently. _Bad things happen to those who meddle with time._

A particularly nasty piece being pulled out of her wound drew her out of her musings with a sharp gasp.

“Sorry, Granger.” Fred said apologetically.

 _Fred._ He was alive. She could save him. And Remus and Tonks. Colin and Lavender. Snape. But at what price? Who’s to say someone else won’t die in their place? One look at the auburn haired boy with both ears tells her that he deserves more than a last laugh. If no one else, she’ll save him.

Fred looks up, startled to find Hermione staring at him. He quickly covers his surprise with a wink. He’s delighted when she refocuses and shakes her head curtaining her face with her hair trying to hide the faint pink staining her cheeks.

George was putting on the last drops of dittany when Fred noticed something peculiar about her wound.

“Hey Granger, I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” He said quirking an eyebrow at her.

She gave him a confused look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pointed toward her stomach. She looked at his amused face and George’s astonished one and then took a glance. She gasped and ran a finger along the tender, raised markings. The cuts had healed became scar tissue that was tinged with blue matching the sand of the time turner - four lines intersecting at evenly spaced intervals with different variations of tines at each of the eight ends. It began just under her breasts and stopped just above her navel making a square on her toned stomach. She had seen this symbol before in a book, but she couldn’t remember where or what it meant.

Unnerved by the symbol emblazoned on her midsection, she hastily pulled her shirt down to cover it only to find that she could still see it. Her shirt was burned through in places, sandy, and had blood staining bits of it.

“Do either of you have a shirt I could borrow?” She asked with a small rosy tint on her cheeks.

“I’ll go check.” Fred said, noticing the issue.

After he left the room, she felt an intense pain knot in the base of her stomach. She gripped the sheets hard and breathed through her nose, closing her eyes. She felt the pain leaking into her arms and legs, then it lessened. Fred came back into the room and it was gone completely. His eyebrows were drawn together in a slight pained expression and he had one arm around his midsection and the other with a grey shirt thrown over it. Both shook their head confused by the weird sensation not noticing that other felt the same thing.

“Here,” He said tossing her the grey short-sleeved shirt with ‘Gryffindor’ emblazoned across the back shoulders and the house sigil above the left breast. “It’s from our third year, so it might fit you a bit better.”

“Yes, because Freddie here got fat in his old age.” George snickered.

“Oi! I still look better than your ugly mug.” Fred shot back.

“Yes, but at least this ugly mug can get a date!”

“Hah! So you admit I am the better looking one!” He said pointing at his brother, a look of triumph on his face at ‘winning’ the age-old argument.

Hermione had a wide smile on her face with a single tear making its way down her cheek, she’d missed their banter too much. George had drawn in on himself considerably after the battle, he spent long days shut up in his dark room only coming out for meals. During these times when you did see him, he was unrecognizable. The face that usually carried so much mischief suddenly looked pale and carried such despair. You would have never thought he was a prankster had you not known him before. It gave her such joy at seeing that spark in his eye again. She tried to brush her tear away before either of them could notice but luck was not on her side.

“Hey now, what’s this about?” Fred asked coming over and sitting on the edge of the bed next to her. Unknowingly sitting closer than he normally would have.

“You’re not still in pain are you?” George said rummaging for another pain relief potion.

“No, no pain.” She gave each a convincing smile. “You mentioned that I had disappeared from Shell Cottage?” She changed the subject quickly, looking at George. Fred looked to his twin curious as well.

George handed her a pain potion despite her meek shaking of her head. “Yeah, Fleur had gone up to check on you and your bed was empty. She was out of her mind, kept adding French phrases into her speech.”

She downed the potion and thought for a minute. She couldn’t go to Shell Cottage, not yet anyway. Her outfit alone would be a giant red flag that something was different. Harry and Ron were more observant than anyone gave them credit for, especially since they’d been living with her in a tent for half a year. She’d have to stay away from them for a while. Let them think that she’d put weight back on and her ‘Mudblood’ scar had healed in the few short weeks apart. She’d give the excuse that she was planning their break into Gringotts.

That meant staying with the twins for a while. They aren’t daft, far from it. They already know something is amiss. She’d have to tell them the truth, especially since they’d be covering for her. Oddly enough, she had no problems with this. Fred and George had pulled many pranks over the years, created their entire stock of items while keeping under the Molly Weasley Radar, and have kept up Potterwatch in secret these past few months. No, she had no problem letting them know her secret, she knew they’d keep it to their dying breath. She felt a tug in the base of her stomach, she hoped it doesn’t come to that.

“Could you let them know that I’m fine? Tell them I woke up and panicked not knowing where I was and apperated away. Tell them that you’re very good with healing spells and can take care of me.” She gave them a pleading look. “And could you tell Harry and Ron that the next one’s in her vault and I’m working out how to get it?”

The twins shared a look before looking back at her with curious expressions, amusement dancing in their brown eyes.

“Now Granger,” Fred began.

”-what reason would you ever have-“

“-to ask the likes of us-“ Fred pointed between himself and his counterpart.

“-to cover for you?” George finished.

“The same reason I suddenly have a tattoo.” She smirked.

He didn’t even hesitate. “We’ll do it.” Fred said with a nod.

“On one condition.” George looked sideways at his brother. “We get a little information.”

“You tell us how you got that tattoo-“

“-and the wicked dragon hide outfit-“

“-and why you should be at Shell Cottage-“

“-and why you asked for the date-“

“-and why you were so adamant I was George when you woke up.” Fred finished. George frowned, unaware of the earlier conversation.

She inwardly cringed. She was hoping to gloss over that part in the explanation. Still, she nodded her acceptance of the terms. Both boys look satisfied.

“Well I’m going to go cover for our favorite bookworm.” George said walking toward the door.

Fred stood up and made to leave as well. “And I’ll go make something for dinner, leave you alone to change shirts. Unless, of course you want us here-“

“Leave, you git.” Hermione said blushing and waving her arm in the direction of the door. Fred laughed at her reaction and closed the door behind him.

That same knot Hermione felt earlier tightened again, just under her navel. She tried to ignore it and pulled off her ruined under shirt. The knot twisted into a tight ball and her expression grew pained. She quickly threw on Fred’s old shirt and curled into the fetal position on the bed. Her fingers clutched at the sheets, it spread like magma. She crawled to the edge of the bed and tried in vain to reach a pain potion or salve or something to ease this feeling. Fire was crawling through her veins and incinerating her joints. She knocked the bag of supplies to the floor and cried out in frustration and pain.

George, having just sent off a patronus, heard the commotion and rushed through the door to find Hermione curled in on herself, arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

He rushed over to her side and asked her what happened, if her wound had opened, but she just shook her head, tears leaking out of her tightly shut eyes. He heard something crash in the kitchen but didn’t think anything of it.

“Granger, tell me what to do, how do I help?” He asked panicking, trying to smooth her hair out of her face.

“F-Fred.” She choked. She doesn’t know what made her say his name, other than this indescribable urge to be with him. That thought unsettled her slightly, but the pain she felt at the moment took precedence.

“You want me to go get him?” She nodded frantically, that was exactly what she needed.

Though he was confused, he didn’t question it. He just wanted to relieve her of whatever this was, maybe she knew something he didn’t. But if his brother could help, he’d gladly retrieve him. So he jogged quickly down the short hallway.

George entered the kitchen of their flat and froze. Cast iron pans had fallen on the floor, likely the cause of the sound he heard earlier. Fred was lying in the middle of them, arms holding his stomach in a death grip. George rushed over and began asking him the same type of questions he’d asked Hermione. Only one word was his brother’s answer. A name, more specifically.

“Hermione.”

Saving his questions for later, George half walked, half carried his brother down the hall to the tiny bedroom. Crossing the room as swiftly as he could with the dead weight of his brother, George placed him on the bed next to Hermione and watched, mouth opened in shock, as they instinctively turned toward the other and wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace. It was as natural as if they’d done it their whole life.

Fred and Hermione were slowly coming out of the painful haze they’d been in previously, finally able to breathe a bit easier, and were starting to panic. Fred had no idea what was going on. One minute he was about to make dinner the next he was on the floor, stomach cramping horribly and feeling the strongest urge to be near Hermione. He was beyond confused. But with his nose buried in her sweet smelling curls, he couldn’t be bothered to move. Hermione was more or less in the same boat, confused and scared beyond belief, but she felt safe and comfortable with her head tucked beneath his chin and face buried in his chest.

“Blimey Fred, the bird hasn’t even been here more than a few hours and you’re already in bed with her! What would Mum say?” George joked amusement and worry painting his features as he observed the two.


	3. Chapter 3

Simultaneously, Fred and Hermione let go of each other and sat up, taking explicit care not to touch the other, pink dusting both their faces. Fred ran a hand through his auburn tresses and Hermione fiddled with the hem of the shirt she was wearing. The recollection that it was Fred’s shirt did not help her predicament. Neither of them met each other’s eyes, but instead looking at anything else in the room, and not focusing on any one thing more than a few seconds.

“So what was that, then?” George raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between the two embarrassed teens. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to take the mickey, but something about this didn’t sit well with him.

When no one answered, he looked to Hermione. “Granger, you usually have the answers. Care to explain?”

Hermione looked up and met his eyes. She almost flinched at the similarity of his gaze and that of his brother whom she’d just cuddled with. She cleared her throat and began in a strong voice.

“I’m not sure, but it may have something to do with how I arrived here.” At that, Fred finally looked at her, and this time, she did flinch.

She looked at both of their expectant faces encouraging her to continue before burying her face in her hands – not willing to see the looks on those faces when she lets the shoe drop.

“A rogue death eater sent me back in time.” At their silence she peeked through her fingers. They stared back, expressionless. Suddenly very nervous, she dropped her hands to her lap, playing with the hem once again. “He was insane. He’d stolen a prototype time turner from the Department of Mysteries and was going to send me back to the war and give me over to Vol- You Know Who.” She caught herself just in time, she’d almost forgotten about the taboo. “He kept saying that he would turn the war, bring victory to his side and that he’d be praised for his good deed.” She rambled.

A hand came over and covered both of her own, stopping her nervous fidgeting. The contact of his strong hand, calloused from swinging a beater’s bat for years, instantly calmed the agitation that she didn’t know she was feeling. It was immediate, like water pouring over her and melting away the tension, more soothing than any calming draught she’d ever taken. Her brows furrowed over this new development.

“Wouldn’t want you to stretch out my shirt, now would we, Granger?” Fred murmured, in a state of numbness. He didn’t know what to feel. He had half a mind to ask her a security question, it was just that barmy of an explanation.

As if on cue, his other half did just that. “Granger, what did we give to Harry your third year to help him get to Hogsmead?” George asked in a hard voice. Not very many people knew of the map, or how Harry came to own it. Mentally, he patted his brother on the back.

Hermione looked affronted. “The Marauder’s Map. You nicked it from Filch your first year.” She almost started panicking, she never thought of what she’d do if they didn’t believe her.

Fred, sensing this, rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand in soothing circles. He watched in fascinated alarm as the wild look in her whiskey colored irises faded and her breathing calmed slightly.

“You have to believe me.” She said in a small voice. Fred felt a tug beneath his navel and an urge to comfort and reassure her. He frowned, but continued tracing circles on her hand.

“You have to admit, it’s a bit farfetched. We’re in the middle of a war for Merlin’s sake.” George said his eyes locked on his twin’s movements.

“And what of my new scar? Those metal pieces you picked out? The sand?” She looked between the identical men, imploring them to understand. She took her hand back from Fred in her gesticulations. “That was from the ruined time turner.”

The twins shared a look, a silent conversation waging behind small changes in expression. Almost imperceptibly, they nodded to each other and turned back to the worried witch.

“Alright Granger-” Fred began.

“Let’s say this is true-” 

“Why did you arrive here?”

She could have laughed if the situation wasn’t so monumental, she’d never seen the twins without their usual mischievous sparkle, but now their expressions held an amusing amount of seriousness.

“I don’t know.” She admitted. “The death eater wanted to send me to You-Know-Who. I don’t know why I ended up here with you.” It was only partially a lie. She had a theory, but she didn’t want to expand on it without further research. Research that wouldn’t come until the end of the war.

She felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. _The war._ Clinically, she knew she was back in it and had to fight again, but she didn’t stop to think about what that would entail. As if her dreams every night weren’t enough, she’d been shoved back into the midst of the nightmare itself. It was one thing to act like an auror bringing in criminals, it was another thing entirely to fight for your life in a true battle. She thought it was over. It never was.

Both boys watched her mood turn, her expression fall, and the look in her eyes take on a haunted gaze. They knew nothing, and didn’t know how to help her – even if they’d been closer friends, she’d had different experiences they knew they couldn’t imagine. They felt helpless. So they did the only thing they could. George climbed on the bed on the other side of Hermione and threw an arm around her shoulders while Fred put one around her waist. It was awkward at first, but eventually they relaxed into the embrace.

The weight of their arms around her brought out the metaphorical weight of her situation. She patted herself on the back for making it this far without a breakdown. A few whole hours. One tear slipped out, then another. A choked sob escaped her throat and the muscled arms tightened. Her face fell into her hands and he body shook. The twins shared a sad look over her hunched form. George began to rub the back of her neck while Fred ran his hand up and down her spine in soothing motions.

She began to feel slightly better almost immediately, her sobs turned into sniffles, but she didn’t look up- she was too unnerved. She analyzed instead. She knew _exactly_ which twin had calmed her. Both twins held the same amount of pressure, their soothing motions moved in tandem with the other, the feel of their hands was identical in every way. But yet she knew that it was Fred’s touch that calmed the panic and helplessness that raged inside.

“So,” George began after she had quieted down. “what was with the cuddling?” That was the million galleon question wasn’t it?

She felt Fred stiffen slightly, mirroring her own internal feelings.

She was silent for a long minute. “I don’t know.” She said quietly as if it pained her to say the words.

She expected them to take the mickey about The Hermione Granger not knowing something, but to her pleasant surprise, they didn’t. George just got up, mentioned something about making dinner and walked out of the room. In a way, she sort of wished they had poked fun, at least it wouldn’t have been so awkward.

Both of the remaining occupants of the room seemed to realize at the same time that they were left alone. Fred quickly removed his arm from around her and internally frowned at the disappointed feeling from the loss of contact. Hermione felt it too and shoved the feeling aside to analyze later where she had a whole library of references at her disposal.

Fred awkwardly cleared his throat. He realized too late that he’d caught her attention with the noise and looked around the room trying to find something to talk about. His eyes landed on her jacket and he let a cocky smirk adorn his features, trying to get back to normalcy.

“Tell me, Granger, what’s with the dragon hide? Did you finally get a taste for fashion?” He teased.

She took on an amused grin and replied nonchalantly, “It’s apparent that you and I have different ideas on what’s actually in fashion as my outfit is decidedly not magenta.” She let a smirk crawl across her lips and continued in her airy tone. “But as an auror, you need the best protection you can get, and my clothes have built-in armor.”

Fred adopted a fake offended expression complete with hand over his heart theatrics at the jab at his uniform before it dissolved into an impressed look of surprise. “Bloody hell, we thought you’d go into a career that deals with research or be a champion of magical creatures’ rights, not become an auror.”

“I thought so too.” She chuckled.

“So what happened?” He asked.

She sobered at that. “I think George should hear the answer that that one as well.”

Taking note of the suddenly tense atmosphere, he got up and made his way to the door. “Well, let’s go see if supper is ready, shall we?”

He had just past the doorway when he felt the knot in his stomach. He paused in the hallway to look back at Hermione to see her still sitting on the bed, brows furrowed in confusion and pain. Their eyes met in silent question, but neither whiskey nor mocha knew the answer.

* * *

Supper consisted of whatever happened to be in the twins’ kitchen, which turned out to be muggle canned soup and stale-but thankfully not moldy- bread. Hermione didn’t mind as she understood that they couldn’t very well pop down to the store with the state of the war. Besides, in her time, she never got fully used to normal eating habits after spending months of eating berries, mushrooms and poorly cooked fish at varying times. All the same, she waved off their apologetic glances with perhaps too-cheerful smiles.

A single tall, white candle sat in the middle of the small, round wooden table, providing just enough light to eat by. Night had fallen on them, the stars twinkled just outside the nearby window. They were situated in an empty corner of the kitchen that acted as a dining room. By Hermione’s unconscious choice, she could see the opening that led to the hallway as well as the one leading to the living room and front door.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” She began, placing her spoon down on the wooden table before her. “what happened to Potterwatch? And why are you at the flat?”

It had been bugging her since she arrived. She knew they traveled to different positions to avoid snatchers. On that note, she wondered where Lee Jordan was. She also knew the shop had been destroyed and she couldn’t imagine that staying here was actually safe. She wiped at her mouth with her napkin.

“It’s still going.” Fred said from his position across from her as he reached for his glass of water.

“We only do it every few nights-“ George added from his place next to them.

“and we split up when we leave in case anyone follows us.”

“That way we can check in with our family as well.”

“We only came back here for extra products to restore what’s been used already.” Fred finished shoving another spoonful in his mouth.

George laughed leaning back. “You’re lucky you landed on us when you did, Granger. We’d almost left to go back to Aunt Muriel’s.”

Hermione briefly felt guilty for holding them back from seeing the rest of their family. She pushed the feeling aside and said, “Thank you, for caring for me.” With a shy grin as she raised her spoon to her mouth.

“Ah but Granger, it should be us thanking you.” Fred said with that infuriating, cocky smirk. At her confused expression, George spoke up.

“Yeah, no one wants to be around our dear Aunt Muriel more than necessary.” She chuckled.

The flames from the candle flickered, casting shadows on their faces and illuminating their mischievous grins. She briefly had thoughts of muggle ghost stories and the traditional flashlight under the chin before she pushed that train of thought away. She didn’t need ghost stories when the tales of their reality hold true terror.

There was a moment of silence that lengthened with each clank of silverware and slurp of soup. The boys shared looks over their bowls and kept glancing at Hermione.

“I suppose you boys want to hear my story?” She asked after a while having grown tired of their obvious actions. They nodded, seemingly sheepish, but she knew better. She pushed her empty bowl away from her and rested her hands on the table, right hand over left.

“We won the war.” She began. The twins immediately had huge, relieved grins stretched across their faces. Her own smile turned sad. “There were many casualties.” Her voice cracked slightly. She lifted her glass to her mouth and let the lukewarm water flow over her tongue and swallowed.

“Wait-“ Fred interrupted, holding his hands up. “Aren’t there rules about time travel? Should you be telling us anything?”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up, mouth parted slightly.

“Don’t seem so shocked, Granger.” George admonished in a playful tone. “We do pick up a book every now and then.”

“Only when you’re causing mayhem or creating a product.” She said rolling her eyes. She froze, thinking over what she just said. “You didn’t.” Her eyes bounced back and forth between the boys.

“We thought about it.” Fred allowed with a smirk.

“But we thought better of it.” George’s smirk matched his twin’s.

“Do have some faith, Granger.” Fred jested.

Hermione let out a relieved sigh before ignoring them and answering their previous question. “Since I apparently ‘disappeared’ from my bed at Shell Cottage, I’m operating under the assumption that my counterpart and myself merged and that the future is subject to change.”

The boys nodded in unison but kept their curiosities about her stay at Shell Cottage inside. They knew she’d tell them in due time.

“Harry did it.” She continued. “He killed Him.” She allowed a small smile to grace her face. “We tried to move on. Rebuild what was broken, and find some normalcy.” She had a faraway look in her eye as she explained. She stared into the living room, focused on a loose thread on the sofa.

“Harry and Ron went straight into auror training, and I went back to Hogwarts.”

“Naturally.” Fred interjected, trying to keep some humor in the tense setting.

She ignored him, or didn’t hear him. “But Ron had trouble getting back to fighting. Any green spell was too similar to an Avada Kedavra, it was all much too similar to the battles of the war. So I took his place as Harry’s partner.”

“That explains the dragon hide.” George mumbled to himself, taking another bite of the hard bread.

“I had a list.” She said quietly. Her idle hands tore at her own piece of bread. “It had every name I could remember. Death eaters that took something from us. I had almost completed it.”

George swallowed his bite thickly. He reached for his water.

“Augustus Rookwood. He’d gone mad. He sent me here, expecting to change the outcome of the war by handing me over to You-Know-Who.”

Fred’s hand clenched into a fist before he could question it. He ignored it and continued to listen.

“I don’t know why it didn’t work that way or why there were… _side effects,_ and I won’t know until I can properly research. That won’t happen until we win the war again.”

She refocused her gaze on the twins. Both showed differing looks of understanding. George was more calculative while Fred held determination. Looking at them then, she could understand how the duo worked so well together. Two different approaches and styles combining for a strong, united front.

They shared a glance, speaking a language she could never hope to understand. They nodded and turned back to face the war-hardened witch before them.

“Alright, Granger,” Fred began.

“How do we win?” George finished.

Both held wide grins that could shape galaxies, but she knew that Fred’s would break the stars.


	4. Chapter 4

She woke up with a start, her heart beating a wild cadence. Her eyes were blown wide with a terror she couldn’t immediately place, her breathing was erratic, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, and she felt a pressure on her shoulders. It took her a second longer to realize the pressure was from someone’s hands. At the thought, she struggled trying to get out of the person’s grasp only to get further tangled in her bed sheets.

“Granger! It’s just me! You’re okay!”

She paused at the familiar voice. Long enough to remember why she woke up in the first place. Bits and pieces of her nightmare flashed in front of her. Faces, curses, blood, everything all over again. She closed her eyes. A year can’t erase all that had happened, nothing would. A tear traced its way down her cheek, glistening in the faint light of the first rays of sunlight.

A slightly calloused thumb brushed it away tenderly, his voice placating her with various, soothing nothings. A wave of calm rushed over her, but she was still shaken.

She opened her eyes and looked into familiar mocha ones. “George.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, her throat painfully raw.

More tears poured from her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face into his chest, soaking his shirt as she sobbed. His hands left her shoulders, and his strong arms encompassed her small form as he rubbed her back soothingly.

“It’s Fred, Granger.” He whispered hesitantly, daring to break the air. He felt her tense and he felt guilty.

She pulled away and studied his face, for what he couldn’t be sure, but he did notice her check both of his ears.

“Fred?” She croaked. Her voice was broken and the look on her face told of her hesitancy to believe it to be true.

And then Fred understood. _There were many casualties_.

“I died.” He watched her expression. “Didn’t I, Granger?”

“Fred.” The guilty hitch in her raw tone sent a cold feeling through him. As quick as it came it was gone. He didn’t fear death, just what his would do to those he left. He drew Hermione back into his arms, comforting her. Of what it’s done to her. Her arms wrapped around him like a vice, as if he would disappear if she let go. He felt the front of his shirt stick to his skin from where her tears soaked through.

“Looks like I’ve got a year of mischief to make up for.” He murmured into her hair.

He felt her shoulders shake as she giggled. He let the right side of his mouth curl up in a lopsided smile.

“You will not, Fred Weasley.” Her voice was slightly muffled against his chest, but her felt her smile.

He couldn’t tell if it was her warm breath seeping through his shirt as she spoke, warming his skin, or the fact that he made this broken witch smile, but something was giving him a warm flutter in his stomach. Then again, he also would feel pain in his stomach and it had something to do with the girl in his arms. He was very confused.

She felt safe, something she hadn’t felt in years, and something was telling her it had to do with the auburn haired prankster whose chest her face was currently hiding in. She panicked slightly as she realized it probably had something to do with the pain that connects her to Fred and the blue scar on her stomach.

Said pain was also the reason she and Fred had to sleep in the same room. The night before, with little hope, they tried to go to their separate rooms, only to give up after nearly crippling under the intense ache. Since Fred’s room was bigger than the tiny bedroom/storage room, they slept there. Ever the gentleman, Fred slept on a transfigured cot against the wall of his room, but not before she put up a fight. He eventually won by claiming she need to recover from her injuries with George backing him up. So she was stuck sleeping in Fred’s bed, not that she was complaining, it was dead comfortable and smelled wonderful, but she’d only ever admit it under veritaserum.

“Morning.” A very amused George spoke from the doorway. His arms were crossed as he leaned against one side, a taunting smile gracing his lips. “What’s all this then?”

Hermione and Fred hastily let go of their embrace. Hermione busied herself by studying the pattern on the comforter while Fred glared at his brother.

“She had a nightmare.” He explained. “I’m surprised you didn’t come running actually.” He mentioned with a thoughtful expression.

“Why? I didn’t hear anything.” George said, a frown knitting his eyebrows.

If it were possible, Hermione would have burned a hole through the comforter with her stare. Her form was tense and her idle fingers played with the sheets in her lap.

“How could you not? I know you only have one ear, but you aren’t completely deaf.” Fred said with a nervous laugh.

At George’s confused expression and a quick glance at Hermione he explained further. “She was screaming, George.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure I would have heard if she was.” George’s eyes were wide, he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Maybe you are going deaf. I thi-“

“Silencing charms.” Hermione mumbled. Both twins snapped their heads in her direction.

“What was that, Granger?” George asked.

“Silencing charms.” She spoke a little louder but didn’t look up. “Ever since the end of the war, I’ve had nightmares. Dreamless sleep stopped working within months.” She ran her hands up her arms feigning a chill.

Fred took one of her hands in his and she looked up to meet his gaze. She was surprised to see no pity swirling in his irises.

“I’m sorry I woke you up.” She whispered. “I normally put the charms on my room. I’ll put them over the bed so you-“

“No.” Surprising everyone, it was George who spoke. “You don’t need to put up silencing charms, Granger.”

She immediately began shaking her head. “No, you both need to sleep. I shouldn’t wake you up with my silly troubles.” She gave a self-depreciating laugh that broke the twins’ hearts.

“Who told you that nonsense? It’s not ‘silly troubles’, you can’t help the trauma you went through.” Fred spoke.

Hermione began shaking her head again, but George stopped her.

“Let us help you.”

She was going to protest again, but the look on both boys’ faces were so tender and genuine and painted with a worry that warmed her heart. After the war, she relied on herself to face her inner struggles. The Weasley’s were already to kind and had their own problems to worry about, and Harry could finally live freely. She couldn’t burden any of them with her troubles. Her parents, after getting their memories back, were too spiteful and betrayed to truly listen and they couldn’t hope to understand what she’d been through. Anyone else looked down on her with pity. The public portrayed her as the strong female heroine so that was what she was.

Reluctantly, she nodded her head. Maybe she needed to be taken care of too.

* * *

The boys kindly allowed her use of the bathroom first. She turned the knobs on the shower, letting the water heat up and undressed. She looked down and studied the blue scar tissue. She knew she’d seen the symbol somewhere but couldn’t remember. She looked up to study it in the mirror only to find the glass had fogged over. She sighed and stepped under the stream letting the hot water release the tension in her muscles and wash away excess sand, glass and grime. She hissed as water found its way into open cuts that had skipped healing.

As she washed her hair, she thought up a list of tasks that must be completed to ensure the desirable outcome of the war. The remaining horcruxes were a given. They would have to all be destroyed around the same time, much like last time. Unfortunately, that meant facing the final battle over again. She didn’t want the responsibility of deciding who to save. She’d save that for closer to the battle.

She stepped out and grabbed a fluffy towel, magenta of course, and dried herself off. She’d focus on breaking into Gringotts again. There was no way with the Thief’s Downfall in place that their break in will be kept quiet. That move will be the beginning of the end. She’d have to see if Bellatrix’s wand and a strand of hair was still at Shell Cottage. It would be the best to do things as similarly as possible to ensure she can account for every eventuality.

She looked over at her dragon hide pants and Fred’s shirt. She sighed as she put them on. First thing on the list is retrieving her beaded bag which would have a clean outfit for her. She dried her hair magically and stepped out of the bathroom nearly tripping over Fred who was seated right outside the door.

“Walk much, Granger?” Fred asked with a cheeky grin. He stood up, dusting himself off.

She gave him a pointed look.

“I’ll be quick.” He said walking through the door purposefully leaving it open. “Unless, of course, you want to keep me company?” She could hear the infuriating grin in his voice.

She turned around and slammed the door shut, but not before he took his shirt off. As he chuckled, she told herself that seeing Fred shirtless was nothing to swoon over, she’d shared a tent with Ron and Harry after all. But she couldn’t deny that beater’s bodies held more muscle. Even if it had been a few years since he played.

She leaned up against the wall and slide down to a sitting position. She groaned. She felt a slight twinge under her navel and assumed Fred was at the far end of the bathroom. She sighed. She’d read about magic connecting two people, but nothing like this. Usually it was more of a mind connection, like sharing thoughts or emotions, telepathic and empathic, something that could be controlled with occlumency, something like Harry and Voldemort. She’d never heard of a physical connection that manifested itself with pain upon separation. Or nudges and warmth when within proximity. The closest she could think of were old pureblood marriage spells that encouraged the desire to spend time with each other by conditioning through pain. It was horribly outdated and mostly used in arranged marriages. She sincerely hoped her tumble through time hadn’t married her to Fred.

George was walking down the hallway going to the living room when he noticed Hermione sitting with her back to the bathroom door and her head in her hands. He couldn’t imagine what all of this must be like for her. Just when you thought it was over, you get pulled back into the fray. Not that it was ever truly over for her. He thought she could use a bit of a distraction, and he could use a bit of help. He stopped walking when he was next to her and had to bite back a teasing comment when she looked up through her curtain of curls.

“Do you think you could give me a hand with this?” He gestured with the stack of papers he was carrying.

“What is it?” She questioned, suspicion written across her features as she eyed the stack as if it would bite. He couldn’t blame her, they would do something like that.

“Order forms.” He supplied while thumbing through them to show her there was nothing malicious about them.

“I thought the death eaters destroyed your store.” She said as a question.

“They did, but that won’t stop the business. We still get owl orders all the time. It’s mainly our defense line. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Shield Hats, Extendable Ears. I suppose we won’t sell many Whiz-bangs until we win.” He smiled.

She smiled back. She was glad that the war did little to hinder their sales. “What can I do to help?” She needed the distraction.

“I just need you to make a list of how many of each product has been ordered. Then when your Ball and Chain finishes up in there, you both can take inventory and make sure we’ve got enough of them.” He said handing her the stack not noticing the way she tensed at his marriage euphemism.

He looked at the little witch before him who, for all intents and purposes, was his little sister. He watched her nostrils flare ever so slightly at the smell of the parchment and a portion of his worry eased. She would be okay, he would make sure of it. He continued on his previous path intent on counting the payments to be made and purchases that have been made.

Hermione immediately took to the mindless activity of these order forms. It required just enough attention to keep her from panicking over the rest of her life, but not too much attention as to stress her even more. It was perfectly mind-numbing, allowing her to tune out her world. So much so that she didn’t even notice the bathroom door opening and Fred sitting down beside her until he reached over and took half of the remaining stack. She jumped nearly spilling the inkwell.

“Haven’t even been here a day and George already has you working.” He tutted.

She turned to look at him and caught a waft of spearmint and something utterly Fred. She shook her head slightly getting back on track.

“I do believe he was giving me a distraction.”

“Be that as it may, he still got out of taking inventory, which I know he hates.”

“Then it’s an equally beneficial exchange.” She smiled and went back to her parchment.

Fred smiled as well but said nothing as he wandlessly and wordlessly conjured his own quill and parchment. She tried not to openly show how impressed she was, but her dropped jaw gave her away.

“Honestly, Granger, when will you realize that we are brilliant?” He jested.

“I always knew you were.” She murmured as she wrote another tally down for Shield Hats, not noticing Fred’s cheeks dust pink at the compliment.

Eventually, they finished sorting through the order forms and took stock of the inventory they had in the bedroom/ storage room. After spending hours counting everything and recounting to make sure, they concluded that this wave of orders would clean them out of most of their inventory and they’d have to restock. While Hermione figured making all of the products again would be exhausting, she couldn’t help but admire the excitement that lit up Fred’s face at the prospect. She found that she liked the twins’ ambition and their determination that made their dream happen.

She felt melancholy when she asked herself what her dream would be. She truly didn’t want to be an auror, but it was the only thing that made her feel like she was living anymore. Something about putting your life on the line makes you realize you actually have one. And she didn’t think she wanted to sit behind a desk drafting new laws for magical creatures, constantly fighting everyone else’s battles. Then it occurred to her that she might not even make it through the war a second time. The thought effectively sobered her and she snapped out of the bliss she’d been in.

George popped in and announced that he’d made tea and invited them to take a break. When Fred informed him that they’d finished he was delighted and eagerly led the way to the living room. Hermione tuned out their boisterous banter ahead of her as she lagged behind.

They had less than a month to plan out the rest of the war. Harry and Ron would be worried if she was away from them for a longer period of time. There was no time for distractions. No time to worry about this strange side effect she shared with Fred. No time for anything but planning, and that was exactly what they were going to do.

With renewed determination, she faced the twins as they all sat down, tea in hand.

“I’ve been doing some thinking.” She began, cutting through their laughter at whatever joke they’d said.

“That’s nothing new for you.” Fred quipped. George snorted. Her brows furrowed and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Are you both willing to help me end this war?” She glanced between the two of them.

“Sure, Granger.”

“It’s not like we have anything better to do.” George finished, taking a sip of his tea.

They seemed to realize that this was not going to be a light hearted chat between friends, and gave her their complete attention. Once again, Hermione could have laughed at their serious expressions.

She nodded. “Good. First order of business, I need to retrieve some things from Shell Cottage. Preferably, without anyone’s knowledge.” She said tipping her teacup and burning her tongue on the hot liquid.

“What sort of things?” Fred asked.

“My beaded bag, a crooked wand that belonged to Bellatrix, and any clothing I was wearing when I arrived there that might have one of Bellatrix’s hairs on it.” She said in a rush, dreading the questions that they were sure to ask.

Their eyes widened, but they otherwise showed no reaction to her list. They didn’t move and they didn’t speak.

“Getting in there unnoticed would prove to be troublesome.” George said finally, turning stiffly to his brother, setting his tea down.

“Bill is tuned to the wards and would feel if anyone crossed them friendly or not.” Fred copied his twin’s actions.

“But family members cause the least disturbance,”

“So it would have to be one of us to go in,”

“And if we crossed at the same time ickle Ronikins did,”

“Then Bill would be non-the-wiser.”

“Which is his normal state anyway.” George finished causing both of them to break down into laughter, effectively releasing their tensed posture.

Hermione was amused at their back and forth thinking and was again struck with understanding at how well they work as a team. It was no wonder their shop and products were so brilliant when these two heads were put together. Her heart tugged at the thought of what Fred’s death did to their bond, but she shoved that feeling into a box and pushed it to the back of her mindscape.

“So I won’t be able to go to get my things.” She concluded. She half expected this.

“Sorry, Granger, the wards don’t count you as family, even if we do.”

“Unless you secretly married one of us.” Fred Laughed. She flinched, but only George noticed, his brows furrowed in thought trying to connect together these dots. He didn’t like what he was concluding.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I didn’t.” She claimed with a strained but convincing smile. She was not willing to test her marriage theory so soon.

“No, it’s unfortunate for you, because it seems only George and I are going on this retrieval excursion.”

“No, it’s just me.” George said, amused. “Did you forget, Freddie, that if you separate from our little bookworm you both have ickle stomach aches.”

Fred looked stricken. “It’s not a little pain, George. It feels like-“

“Fire.” Hermione finished. They shared a look of understanding. It was a terrible burden, but at least they weren’t alone.

George cleared his throat. “Now what of this list, Granger?” He asked, pulling the focus back on the task at hand.

“Yes,” Hermione began, mentally cursing herself. “My beaded bag, you’ve seen it.” He nodded. He vaguely remembered a bag she always carried with her all those months ago, before they ran.

“Also, a curved, dark brown wand that belonged to Bellatrix. It would probably be near my bag or with Harry’s things.” At their curious glances, she rushed on. “And any clothes I might have been wearing when I arrived. Probably a sweater and jeans, it’s quite cold.” She rambled, nervous.

“The important thing is that it would have one of Bellatrix’s long, curly, black hairs on it. They’d be dirty and tattered and ...bloody.” She finished, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going, but she was prepared for their questions. She knew the added details would give a bigger reaction than the previous list. She rung her hands in her lap and looked up meeting their gazes.

She really shouldn’t have been so shocked at the concern that they showed so blatantly showed.

“Granger,” Fred started in a strained voice.

“Why were you supposed to be in a recovery bed at Shell Cottage?” George put a hand on his twin’s shoulder.

“And why would Bellatrix’s _hair_ be on your clothes.” Fred added.

She took a deep breath and balled her hands into fists, ending their nervous fiddling. She stared at her teacup, unable to watch their reactions and feel their pity when she explained how weak she’d been. She watched as a tiny droplet of tea made its way down the side of the cup.

“We were captured. It was the taboo, snatchers appeared and we were taken to Malfoy Manor.” She ignored their sharp intake of breath and pushed on.

“I’d disguised Harry as best I could, but they saw through it. But they wanted to be sure. Then _she_ saw that we had the Sword of Gryffindor, which was supposed to be in her vault. She panicked, thinking we’d been in her vault. She sent Harry and Ron to the cellar, but kept me for ques-questioning.” She cursed herself for stuttering. It had been a year since it happened for Merlin’s sake.

“Dobby helped us escape. He broke the prisoners out and disarmed her. He was able to apperate us to Shell Cottage, but Bellatrix threw her dagger. She killed Dobby.” She swiped at the tear that fell.

She didn’t like the silence that followed. When the rest of the Weasley’s were told, there were tears, angry exclamations, empty promises of vengeance, and pity. She hated pity. She felt strong arms surround her and pull her into a hard chest. Instantly, she felt terrifyingly calm. Her trauma, replaced with comfort. And a tug in her stomach.

“What?” She asked looking up into his deep brown irises and noticed for the first time that his have flecks of gold that splinter through the coffee colouring like cracked glass. They sparkle and crackle like lightning. It was magical. Like watching a firework show with her parents. Like seeing Hogwarts for the first time with the soft lamplight illuminating the windows. Like the glow from her first patronus. Like home. She was scared. She wanted to run.

“You were hurting.” He said simply. Fred had barely acknowledged the sharp tug under his navel before he was sitting next to her, folding his arms around her. He knew the connection expected something of them, he just didn’t know what. But she was hurting, and all he wanted was to take it away. And for now, that was enough.

“Granger, what did you mean by ‘questioning’?” George asked softly, keeping his anger in check. He sat on her other side and placed a hand on her shoulder. He filed his twin’s actions away; he’d connect those dots at a later time.

Hermione stiffened and retreated from Fred’s hold. “Torture.” She said in a monotonous voice. She started rolling up her left sleeve. “The cruciatus.” She took out her wand. “A bit of a beating.” She removed the glamour. “And this.”

_Mudblood_

The wound had not healed prettily. A cursed scar for a cursed blade. It was jagged, purple, and slightly faded, but not faded enough. The letters pulled the skin tight, leaving wrinkles in her otherwise youthful skin. The final ‘O’ and ‘D’ were cut too deep in Bellatrix’s anger; Hermione still had trouble bending her hand back.

She traced each of the letters like she’d done countless times before. She flinched at the sensitivity, like always. It gave her comfort in a sadistic way, the consistency of the phantom pains allow her to feel.

Coming out of their horrified stupor, Fred and George shared a glance. They knew their apologies would be empty and have a negative effect on her. They’d have to tiptoe.

“Why do you hide it?” Fred asked her.

“Why would I show it?” Hermione countered, appalled at his suggestion.

“To show how strong you are.” George answered. Her head whipped around, her eyes studying his for any trace of a lie.

“Not many people could survive that deranged old snake without losing their minds.” Fred stated when she didn’t have any unwelcoming reaction.

“But the Brightest Witch of Our Age can.”

“I think she’s the strongest witch I know, George.” She turned back to Fred. To see if he truly meant it. He did.

“Stronger than our mother, I’d say.” George concluded.

She didn’t know what to say. When they saw the scars, Ron and Harry couldn’t look at her without feeling guilty. Molly and Ginny gave her books on glamour charms and make-up to cover it. She took to wearing long sleeves. In a way, she knew that scars made you stronger, but she never felt like putting them on display. All she saw was her own failure, that she fit the connotation of the word carved on her arm, that she was nothing.

No one had told her different. Until now.

She wrapped her arms around both boys in a death grip, silently showing her gratitude.

They boys shared a look that said she’d be okay. They’d make sure of it.

“I’ll make dinner tonight.” She said as she pulled away, standing.

When she walked away toward the kitchen, George watched his brother watching her walk away. He watched his twin’s gaze flick lower, then he shook his head slightly and met George’s knowing stare.

“She’s not a little sister to you anymore.” He stated quietly.

Fred ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Something is telling me she never was. I’m confused, George, this connection…” He trailed off.

George waited. If he remained quiet, he would expand on his explanation. It was something he figured out long ago in talking to people and gauging reactions. It comes in handy knowing what to expect of people and what makes them tick. Especially as a prankster.

“Pain when we’re apart. Little nudges when we’re together. Feelings that are mine, but at the same time not mine.”

“But you can differentiate them from what your conscious feelings and decisions are?”

At Fred’s nod, he continued. “Then maybe they’re just suggestions. Options you can take.”

“Maybe. Or maybe the connection wants something from us.”

“Magic works in strange ways.”

Fred wondered if magic was responsible for making someone feel like coming home.


	5. Chapter 5

“Bag, wand, hair, first edition Hogwarts: A History, pigmy puff, Lavender Brown’s first born child, and a small country.” George looked between Hermione and Fred expectantly. “That everything?”

“George Fabian Weasley!” Hermoine exclaimed with both hands on her hips doing her best to look intimidating, but really she just looked like a puffed up baby nundu. Probably all the hair. George would never admit this, he didn’t truly have a death wish.

“And a bowtruckle in a paired tree!” Added Fred, whose face was turning red with restrained laughter.

“Ah, yes, thank you, Gred.” George told him seriously. Fred lost it. A melody of deep, true laughter filled the room.

Hermione just stared at them with a disbelieving look on her face. The sound of Fred’s laughter was doing funny things to her stomach and she wanted to blame it on the connection, desperately. She didn’t know if she could. Her brows quickly furrowed in confusion and she looked to George.

“Why Lavender Brown’s first born?” Her hands fell from her hips.

“Well, she dated Won Won.” Everyone looked slightly nauseated.

“Just go, George.” Hermione sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“Yes, ma’am!” George gave an exaggerated salute before her turned on the spot and disappeared with a loud crack that echoed through the quiet flat well after he was gone.

It had been a week since her arrival. A week where she alternated between wearing the twin’s old clothes and casting freshening charms on the ones she arrived in. Finally, she was able to push George into going to get her things as well as more food because they’d also run out of what little provisions were left.

She tried not to think of the bond between her and Fred. It became an unspoken rule for no one to mention it. Fred and George wouldn’t even make jokes about it. They all had a small hope that it was just a temporary thing and would fade over time. After all, how can you fight a battle when you have to be within a certain distance of another person?

She also tried not to think about the battle itself. She doesn’t want the responsibility of deciding who to save. She remembers everyone who dies. She went to all the funerals. She wants them to live, but part of her wonders if it was just their time. She knows that there will be death, but she doesn’t want to jeopardize the guaranteed victory by saving some and having others die in their place.

So, to stop thinking about things, she does what she does best. She shoves the thoughts to the side and concentrates all her energy on one thing at a time. In this case, it’s making products with the twins- an activity she enjoys a lot more than she thought she would. There was something very appealing to her about the level of genius and expertise that goes into each invention. It allowed her to think about the fundamentals of magic itself and the various ways it can be manipulated, something she’d always been intrigued by.

Any time that wasn’t spent restocking the twin’s inventory was spent planning the break into Gringotts. She reasoned that she could handle this line of thinking as long as she doesn’t think about what comes after. She resigned herself to the fact that Thief’s Downfall was unavoidable, but that was alright in the grand scheme of things. The noise they would kick up by breaking into the Lestrange vault would be the beginning of the end, which would be fine as long as she stayed on top of things. She would still masquerade as Bellatrix- assuming George comes back with the hair, Harry and Griphook would still be under the invisibility cloak- even though the goblin will still try to backstab them, they would still fly out on the back of the blind dragon- she couldn’t leave the poor creature there after all.

The only problem is that the twins would have to come with them this time.

This was the concept she most dreaded thinking about. How were they to get anything done if she and Fred couldn’t move from within a set distance away from the other? Not to mention that with her at the center of the fight alongside Harry, Fred would be forced to be right there with her and where one twin is, the other is usually not far behind. She’d never forgive herself if one of them got hurt because of this predicament.

Which is why today, she would be doing some experimentation. She would break the silence on the uncomfortable topic that was their bond.

With a determined look on her face, chin high in the air, and a set jaw, she looked to Fred.

Fred, who still had a smile on his face from his twin’s antics, suddenly looked over to Hermione and after seeing the look on her face, gulped audibly. He met her penetrating gaze wearily.

She slowly walked over to him and he watched her with apprehension. He’d seen that look on her face many times at Hogwarts. She was coming over there to lecture him, surly, or hex him for doing something, maybe. He was opening his mouth to apologize for who knows what when she placed her hands on each of his shoulders and began walking him backwards. She steered him around furniture and he was too baffled to do anything but let her lead him. His back hit the wall and she released him. He was utterly confused.

“Stay.” She said pointing a finger at his chest. “Right there.”

She began backing up and his foot made a stuttering motion forward. “Ah! Don’t move.”

He crossed his arms and huffed. “Woof.” He deadpanned.

She giggled, finally breaking that serious mask on her face, and Fred watched her more amused now than annoyed. He was completely enthralled by the bounciness of her mane of curls as her shoulders shook.

“No, no!” She said finally. Face red from laughter. “I’m testing the distance we can have between us without pain.”

He shifted a little at the mention of the bond as a look of understanding passed over his features. He nodded once and stood still against the wall. Across from him was the long expanse of hallway that Hermione was once again backing up towards.

She made it across the living room with no problem. She got to the bathroom door and felt a twinge. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, but it was endurable. By the time she got to George’s bedroom door, the knot had been formed and twisted painfully. Tears formed in her eyes as she clenched her hands and grit her teeth. She saw Fred move his arms across his body to hold his midsection tightly. She barely made it to Fred’s bedroom door when her knees buckled from the fire burning through her nervous system to the farthest reaches of her body.

And then Fred was there, grasping her forearms, pulling her up, and leading her to the couch. They sat there with him leaning against the arm of the couch and her in-between his outstretched legs with her back to his chest and his arms around her.

It was the most content she’d felt in days. The weariness and stress she didn’t know she was harboring melted away and she felt her energy stores recharging. Her magic was singing and vibrating under her skin and she could faintly feel Fred’s own magic pulsing against hers like lazy waves lapping at the shore of a beach. She could easily sit there with him all day if he let her, and judging by the heavy weight of his relaxed arms and the occasional contented sigh he let out that made her curls sway, she’d say he felt the same.

A week ago that thought would have terrified her, and to some degree it still does, but at that moment in time, she decided to just enjoy these odd feelings as they were and not think too hard about it.

“So what do you say that was?” He said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. “Four and a half yards? Five?”

She turned her head to look over his shoulder at the distance between the wall and where the bathroom door was. She turned back around and leaned into him once more, her hands coming to rest on his forearms.

“Yes, that sounds accurate.” She sighed. She was a little disappointed that in the past week since she arrived and the bond began, the effects hadn’t lessened.

“Do you think that we should test the distance every day?” He asked. “Maybe keep a record and write down any changes?”

She turned her head and looked up at him, eyebrows raised slightly. He was staring off in the distance, eyebrows furrowed in thought. His mouth was moving almost imperceptibly forming words she couldn’t hear like he was trying to work out a puzzle before him. He looked down at her, misinterpreting the expression on her face.

“Well, it’s a brilliant idea don’t you think? We test it every day and if there is a change, whether the distance is shorter or longer, we can figure out what made it change. Try different things and see what works and what doesn’t, and once we’ve narrowed it down, we can isolate the probability and use it to fix this connection between us.” He reasoned.

His speech became more impassioned as he spoke, as if this was another product to be created and tested rather than themselves and their individual lives. It was oddly endearing, how excited he was at the opportunity to solve a puzzle and fix a problem. Maybe they weren’t as different as she initially thought.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Fred.” She smiled.

“It was bound to happen eventually.” He smiled back.

“Oh, honestly, you’ve had many wonderful ideas. Just look at your shop.”

“I dare say that living with us has addled that big brain of yours, Granger.” He said with mock seriousness, feeling her forehead for a fever. “I mean, really, why would Perfect Prefect Granger think our joke shop products are wonderful?”

Hermione bristled. “If you truly think of me as a “Perfect Prefect” then you must not know me at all.”

“Well, how could I think differently when all I saw was you berating us for our products.” Fred frowned.

“You were testing them on first years!” She sat up frowning.

“They signed consent forms and were being paid a small profit.” He argued. “Still, my point stands, you never liked our products.”

She deflated. “I loved your products, the magic behind them was amazing. I just never liked cleaning up after them.” She told him sincerely.

He was quiet for a moment, thinking over her words.

“Do you really only think of me as a “Perfect Prefect”?” She asked quietly, fiddling with the hem of her jumper she borrowed. It was colder today. Coincidentally, this was one of Fred’s old Molly Weasley sweaters. Blue with a yellow ‘F’, fraying at the ends.

It had always been an insecurity of hers. Even after becoming a beloved War Hero, she never outgrew the thought that everyone around her only saw her as a stick in the mud, by the books, know it all, swot. She was teased relentlessly as a child for preferring books to dolls, for reading at recess rather than playing in the sand, for following the rules rather than breaking them. Her first instance of accidental magic was before primary school when neighborhood girl a year older than her took her favorite picture book away from her. Nothing changed at Hogwarts, Ron’s cruel words when they were eleven often returned to taunt her, among others. Even light, friendly taunts about her bookish nature and rule abiding tendencies made her grit her teeth through her smile and her bell-like laugh take on a bitter timbre.

He pulled her back against his chest and wrapped his arms around her again.

“Maybe when we first met you. You reminded us a bit of Percy to be completely honest.” The corners of his mouth turned down at the thought of his brother and she desperately wanted to tell him about his change of heart right before the battle, but she thought better of it. “But after Dumledore’s Army, there was no way we could think that about you. Prefect? Of course, couldn’t choose anyone better, you’re quite smart you know.” He squeezed her a bit tighter. “Perfect, however, never. With as many rules as you three have broken, it’s a wonder you were never expelled.” He finished with pride in his voice.

“Thank you, Fred.” She whispered with a smile spreading across her face.

“Anything to get a smile on your face, Hermione.”

He meant it. The entire week she’d been here, he’d hardly recognized her. Melancholy followed her like a cloud over her head. As someone who loved jokes and laughter, he couldn’t stand to see her expression so down. He and his twin made it their mission to rectify that. Even if it was just goading her into a fight or heated argument, it still stoked that fiery passion in her and put a spark in her eye that had been missing.

“What are we doing, Fred?” She whispered.

He looked down at her, startled.

He wasn’t sure what she was asking. His first thought was that they were talking, but that didn’t seem like what she was referring to. He thought of the war. He wondered how often she thought of what was to come. He couldn’t imagine the amount of stress knowing what’s going to happen would have. He knew people would die. He knew _he_ would die. They both agreed it was best not to tell George. Hermione never talked much about the battle that was to come. In a way, he felt it was for the best. He didn’t want to know ahead of time who was to die or what parts of the castle would be destroyed. She told them about the horcuxes. What they were, where they were, what order they will need to be destroyed. He couldn’t help but feel she was leaving something out, but he didn’t think he’d like to know.

He then wondered if her question was referring to their connection and the way they were currently sitting. Everything was fine when they were within range. When they exceeded the four and a half yards, it was unbearable. When they were together like they were at that moment, everything made sense. Like going your whole life watching the world in black and white and suddenly you’re seeing color. Like living in a world of radio static and someone nudges the dial and a beautiful symphony moves through you. His worries about his family went away, the stress from creating a mass order of products dissipated, the negative energy that had been surrounding him since Voldemort’s return was nonexistent. What’s more is he could feel her magic. It was intoxicating.

From a small age, he’d always been in tune with his own magic. At times he could even feel his twin’s. He could always feel the energy flowing under his skin. At times he thought he could physically hold it in the palm of his hand. The first time he held his wand, his magic rushed through him like a river. At the time it was the best thing he’d ever felt. Sitting with Hermione was like a dam bursting. His magic raved and raced to meet hers. And he could _feel_ hers. It was like a storm raging and lightning crackling, thunder rumbling. It was rolling over him and he wanted to get lost in it.

He must have been lost in thought longer than he realized because Hermione was now reading a book he assumed she summoned from their shelves. He sat and watched her for a moment. He watched how her perfect teeth bit into her bottom lip and how her pink tongue moved to smooth over the ache. He watched how her delicate finger wrapped one of her curls around itself before releasing it and letting it bounce back to shape before doing it again.

He summoned a blanket from his room and wrapped it around both of them. She barely moved so he doubted she even realized. He figured while they were there, they might as well indulge in the contented feeling while it wasn’t awkward.

He sighed and wrapped his arms tighter around her. He still can’t figure out what magic wanted from them, but he wasn’t going to analyze it right now. He laid his head on her shoulder and tried to read with her. He quickly fell asleep and she followed not too long after.

* * *

George Weasley supposed, if he really thought about it, he was the thinker between the two of them. That’s not to say his twin doesn’t think at all or that George is solely responsible for all of their ideas. No, it’s just that if George really sat down and analyzed it, he was the one who thought things through to their fullest extent. Fred was the instigator, the catalyst, the one who put things into motion. He always made the first move and it was up to George to think through that move beforehand.

And thinking was all he’d done in the past week.

In his experience and with what little knowledge he had, he’d come to the conclusion that bonds were dangerous. Half of the time. He’d never heard of the type of bond that connected his brother and their friend, but he can’t help but feel uneasy about it. There were all types of bonds: marital, familial, mental, wizard oaths, life debts, unbreakable vows, there was also the occasional soul bond. Any physical bond usually resulted from an outside force: a potion gone wrong, a dark object wreaking havoc. They even made a prototype candy for the shop that stuck people’s hands together for a laugh.

But George wasn’t laughing. Whatever this was, he felt it was more than just a simple bond, and with the state of the wizarding world at the time…

He needed to research.

Despite popular opinion, he and his brother loved books. Occasionally. They’d never be caught in the library- and never were- but that didn’t stop them from getting the research done that they needed. And the research George needed now was on bonds- specifically Fred and Hermione’s. But they didn’t have any books on the subject at their flat. Hermione had already lamented this fact. And there’s no way they could get to the Hogwarts library. Or any library, bookstore, friend’s bookshelf.

So here he was in the middle of Bill’s study at Shell Cottage under a disillusionment charm looking for any books that could be of use. After all, if anyone had information on them and how to break them, it would be a curse breaker wouldn’t it?

George was met with disappointment.

There were only books on wards, goblins, marital ceremonies, veela, French dictionaries, but not physical bonds. Or even time turners.

He heard footsteps down the hall and he quickly pressed himself against the wall and held still so he wouldn’t be seen. He was quite confident in his charm- after all they managed to roam around the castle for years without being caught- but still disillusionment charms weren’t perfect and could flicker like a glamour and a trained eye could easily spot it. A trained eye that a certain curse breaker could quite possibly have. He held still.

As the footsteps came closer, they became more delicate and lighter sounding, and he watched through the open door as a feminine shape with flowing blonde hair and bare feet walked past.

He let out a sigh of relief and crept out into the hallway going the opposite direction from the one the blonde was walking in. He and his brother had only been to Shell Cottage a handful of times since Bill and Fleur moved in, and they’d never stayed long enough for a grand tour, just long enough to throw off snatchers tracking Potterwatch or to check in on the married couple. So needless to say, he was lost. Mostly. He just hoped he was going in the right direction for the stairs.

After a near miss with his sister-in-law which resulted in panicked movements that made him bump a set of wind chimes made of seashells, he finally found the stairs. Coincidentally, they were in the direction the blonde- who he found out was actually Lovegood- was going. Making his way up stairs that didn’t creak nearly as bad as the rickety ones at the burrow did, he caught a glimpse of the beach outside the window. The sun was hanging low in the sky now, casting orange and pink hues across the white sand and alerting him to how much time he’d spent there.

He saw an orange head of hair attached to gangly limbs staring out toward the horizon. Hermione had not said much about his littlest brother, and George knew Ron had held a candle for her for years despite being a prat about it. He wondered how he would react to the knowledge that Fred and Hermione are bonded and occasionally are forced to have a cuddle. George didn’t want to be the one to tell him and he didn’t want to be around to hear the hurtful things Ron will say to Hermione when he finds out. He was almost glad that this time, Hermione would have someone to be there to pick up her pieces after another fight with Ron. Even if that someone was his twin.

He sighed and continued up the stairs and started wandering in to all the bedrooms looking for Hermione’s things. He found her bag easily enough. As well as the clothes that definitely had Bellatrix’s long, curly hair on it. He tried desperately not to think of what she went through to get the clothes looking like _that_. Even if, for her, it had been a little over a year. He had some trouble locating the wand though. He remembered her mentioning that Harry had a small collection and he continued his search through the bedrooms.

Perhaps he was lost in thought or maybe he was just careless, either way when he opened the next door, he was met with bewildered green eyes and a wand pointed in his direction. He held up his hands in surrender despite him not being able to see it.

“Show yourself.” Green eyes hardened instantly.

George cancelled the charm and watched Harry’s wand lower slightly.

“Fred? Or are you George?” He shook his head and raised his wand once more. “What did I say to you when I gave you the Triwizard winnings?”

He thought for moment back to that somber day at King’s Cross.

“That the world really needs a laugh now.” George lowered his hands. “And I’m George.”

Harry lowered his wand and sighed. “Where’s Fred? Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of Hermione?” His voice was strained and tired.

“They’re back at the flat.” Harry’s face fell with disappointment slightly before he looked away. “She’s alright. Already back to researching and planning.”

Harry cracked a grin.

George looked around the room and assumed it was Harry’s. The unmade bed on one side of the room told him that it was shared with Ron. The walls were wooden with large windows letting in the dying light of the sunset. A few tattered pieces of clothing lay on the bed and small moleskin bag sat on the side table.

“Why are you here? And why were you hiding?”

“Do you really want the answer to that?” George asked allowing a mischievous smile to grace his features.

“If Fred were here, I might believe that act.”

George sighed. “Hermione sent me to get a few things. She thinks they would help with the plan.”

“Has she,” Harry started, unsure. “Has she told you about what we’re doing?”

“Yes.” George aid simply and watched as a flash of anger and betrayal took over Harry’s expression. “She had to, mate. You’ll understand later.”

“It doesn’t matter. She never should have told you, no matter the reason.” Harry said as his temper got the better of him.

“She had no choice.” George said and watched the-boy-who-would-save-them all fume.

George let this go on a minute as he searched the room with his eyes for any sign of the wand Hermione described. The room was bare and hardly looked lived in. The boys had little in the way of possessions. George supposed that living on the run left no room for extra baggage.

“Looking for something?” Harry said with suspicion in his tone. George met his gaze, startled. His arms were crossed and his eyes were narrowed. Still angry, apparently.

“Yes, actually, do you happen to have Bellatrix’s wand?”

Surprised, Harry forgot for a moment he was supposed to be mad. “Why do you need it?” He asked slightly horrified.

“Like I said, Hermione thinks it will help with the plan.”

“What kind of plan is she thinking?” Harry asked quietly.

“Breaking into Gringotts.” He looked on in amusement at Harry’s confused face before he understood.

“The next one’s in her vault.” Harry echoed Hermione’s message in a whisper.

Harry turned around and went to the moleskin pouch in the table behind him and dug around for a minute before pulling out a crooked, dark wand. He held it out to George and he took it cringing at the feeling coming from the wand that had done such dark things. He nodded his thanks and pulled out his own wand to cast another disillusionment charm, but before he could cast it, Harry spoke again.

“What reason could she possibly have?” Harry looked conflicted.

“It would be better to hear it from her.”

George looked out the window and noticed Ron making his way back toward the cottage. Quickly, he cast the charm and carefully made his way through the house leaving the confused Chosen One behind. He made it to the edge of the wards just as Ron did. He timed it to where they crossed at the same time and finally slowed to catch his breath.

He was about to disapperate when he noticed a grassy hill made of sand that had a stone sticking up on the top of it that wasn’t there the last time he visited. Curious, he walked over to it to investigate.

_Here Lies Dobby, A Free Elf_

He felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. Hermione told them what happened, but he never processed it. He was never close with the elf, only met him a few times. He figured it wasn’t so much that it was Dobby’s grave, just the grave itself. He wonders how many more graves this war will make.

Not willing to stick around much longer, he disapperated with a loud crack.

When he got home and saw the sleeping pair on the couch, he sighed and went to make supper.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> If you've made it this far in the story, I just have to say thank you! I hope you are enjoying so far.  
> Unfortunately, this is all I have for now. I am currently working on the next chapter, hopefully it will be out soon!  
> I am a college student so you all know what kind of free time I have (and since I'm signed up for 18 credit hours for this spring semester, that free time is practically nonexistent).  
> Stick with me guys, I'll never leave a story incomplete, I promise.

Fred was in trouble. He supposed it ran in his family. Ginny has loved Harry since she could walk. Their mum and dad were married right out of Hogwarts. Bill and Fleur wasted no time tying the knot. Even his own twin was utterly besotted with Angelina. He cursed his family.

As soon as he had the small thought that he found Granger even remotely attractive, his feelings took off without him. He started to notice every little thing about her. How her hair frizzed when she brewed a potion for them, and no matter what she did, it would always be in her way. The way her mouth pressed tight when they told a horrible joke as if she wasn’t sure whether to scold or laugh. The way her nose crinkles when she first opens a book trying to hide that she actually loves the smell.

He also noticed how in the few weeks since she’d been here, that she’d begun to smile more and had more life in her eyes. He tried not to feel too responsible.

He quite liked the bubble they’d created for themselves. He and George would crack jokes and Hermione would laugh. Hermione would look over their instructions for products and work through the mechanics of it, he and George would read books and research for their new products and Hermione would pretend she doesn’t see them actually reading a book even though her smirk would give away that she’s actually amused, Hermione would make dinner sometimes and he and George would tell her it was amazing even if it was the worst thing they’d ever had (how it was possible to ruin a simple can of beans Fred would never know). But Fred knew that the good times had a time limit. Hermione already shared the timeline of events that will happen over the next week.

A week from now, the war will be over, and he might not live to see it.

Hermione had made promises in hushed whispers in the dark of his room at night where George can’t hear that she would do everything in her power to save him. He’d tried to tell her once that he would be fine and that as long as she and George made it through the battle alive, he’d be fine if it was his time to die. Then he looked into her eyes and saw such a raw pain in the moonlight streaming across her face, and he thought maybe _she_ wouldn’t be fine.

“Do you feel anything?” Hermione shouted from the other side of the flat.

“Nothing at all!” He shouted back.

They were currently doing their daily testing of the distance the bond will allow them. In the two weeks since they’d started, they’d come to the conclusion that when they are getting along they have a nice radius to work around and whenever they have a meaningful conversation or get a better understanding of the other, that radius increases.

Hermione came racing through the flat, curls flying in a wild tangle behind her, and practically slammed into Fred wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Fred barely had enough time to wrap his own arms around her before she was pulling back with a laugh and looking up at him eyes shining with elation.

The last time Fred saw her this happy about anything to do with the bond was the day she found out the distance allowed her to go to the loo without Fred having to sit by the door.

“Brilliant! Do you know what this means?” She exclaimed. And Fred didn’t have enough time to respond before she continued on. “It means we don’t have to be glued at the hip over the next week.” She laughed again and sighed still beaming with all her white straight teeth.

Fred couldn’t help but smile back. He knew she was worrying over going into the battle with having to be so close together. Truthfully, he worried a bit as well, but it also allowed him to see that she was okay and unharmed. A tall order for battle in the middle of a war to be sure, but Fred decided to be a little selfish in his requests.

“Now all you have to do is not have a row for another seven days.” George teased from his position on the couch where he was sorting through a fresh batch of owl orders.

Instantly their cheeks turned pink and they put distance between them, Hermione going to sit on the couch next to George picking up some order forms and thumbing through them and Fred going to the bookshelf across from them picking up a stack of Hermione’s finished choices on his way and putting them in their proper place.

During their trials of testing their allotted distance, Hermione and Fred realized that if they argued, that distance shrank. One rather large row over the theoretical testing of “perfectly safe” products on consenting house elves led to Hermione hitting Fred with a “mild” stinging hex and storming out of the room only to swiftly come back into the room holding her stomach and in tears. Which led to George finding them an hour later sitting on the floor with their backs to each other holding hands with identical pouts on their faces. For three days, they had to be in the same room as the other until they both apologized. This led to awkward shower situations that George still continues to tease them about.

Hermione, for her part, while elated at the information on how the bond worked, was still increasingly wary of the bond’s intentions. During her fifth year, when Harry began to have problems with his connection to Voldemort, she researched different bonds as much as she could with Hogwarts’s extensive (but limited) library. While not really finding anything useful for Harry, she does remember a specific martial spell that is cast on the bride and groom in arranged marriages that conditions the couple through punishment and reward to enjoy being around each other enough to have an heir. Once an heir was guaranteed, whether by conception or likelihood of future conception, the bond would gradually dissolve. She found this spell to be barbaric and blatantly manipulative in causing pain with disagreements and distance and warm feelings with closeness both physical and metaphorical. Ignoring that it’s already an arranged marriage with no choice, the bond doesn’t give the couple an actual choice in their feelings toward one another.

Which makes her blooming attraction (she definitely wouldn’t go as far as to say crush) on Fred that much more unsettling.

Not to mention the possibility that they could already be married.

In a guilty way, she sometimes enjoyed the bond they shared. The feeling of contentment and belonging, however artificial, was something Hermione could revel in. She hadn’t felt that in a long time.

Not to mention the lack of nightmares. Once, about a week ago, Hermione was crying out again, only this time Fred couldn’t wake her. So he stopped trying to and just held her, wrapped his arms around her and shushed and whispered nothings to her. According to him, she calmed down alarmingly fast, but when he tried to leave to go back to his cot, she whimpered. So he stayed. To protect what boundary there was, he lain on top of the covers with her tucked back in them and he held her hand. When they woke, they had gravitated toward each other in the night and were properly cuddled. Amidst the awkwardness, Hermione realized it was the best sleep she’d had in a while.

They don’t speak of it, but the cot against the wall was transfigured back into an old slipper and every night Fred wraps his arms around her and she hides a smile she thinks Fred can’t see. George doesn’t mention the lack of screams in the night (he was very firm about the no silencing charm rule from the very beginning), but he and Fred shared a look of understanding that both made sense and completely went over Hermione’s head at the same time.

She was never as close with them as she could have been, and if it wasn’t for Dumbledore’s Army, they might not have been close at all. She was still closer to them than any other of Ron’s siblings (including Ginny who, despite growing up with six brothers and playing on a sports team, was a level of feminine Hermione couldn’t hope to relate to). Fred and George remained an enigma of pranks, quidditch, and business until Hermione appeared in their flat and lived with them for three weeks.

Hermione enjoyed her stay with the twins far more than she ever would have thought. It was the small things that made her happy. Like catching a twin with a book and seeing the self-conscious flush rise to their cheeks so she pretends she doesn’t see, or when she cooks for them and they complement her “culinary expertise” and she knows they’re lying because Harry and Ron told her multiple times she’s abominable at cooking but she lets them lie because it’s endearing. And when they’re making products and she witnesses the way the boys work in tandem as if they share one brain, but then they argue back and forth in a circle as if they share one brain cell. Or when George complains loudly and extensively over taking inventory, but smiles anyway because it’s all for show and he secretly enjoys seeing evidence that they have a business doing what they enjoy.

It was also small things that endeared her to Fred. When he’d mumble inaudibly to himself when he’s working through something. Seeing the way his eyes light up when he’s explaining an idea for a product and those crackles of gold flash through his coffee colored irises sparking in his excitement. And when he’s working over a potion and steam collects in his bangs making it turn to a drooping auburn and he pulls up the hem of his shirt to wipe the steam off his face.

She doesn’t think she can blame those things on their bond. They’re just utterly Fred.

By now Fred had joined them in looking over orders. It was a bit crowded with all three of them on the couch and Fred running a frustrated hand through his hair making it stick up, George was grumbling about a lack of boomslang skin, and Hermione was frowning and chewing her lip in concentration. It was like any other day in the flat. Except that this was the last order they were filling before the final battle. They were leaving that night. And no one mentioned the undercurrent of fear they all felt.

Fred moved his knee to where it bumped Hermione’s then quickly moved it back.

She looked over at him, eyebrows raised. When he didn’t look over at her, she frowned and looked back to the forms in her lap guessing it was an accident.

A couple minutes later she felt a tap on her shoulder and looked over at George to see what he wanted. When he noticed her staring, he looked at her in question.

“What?” He asked. By now Fred was looking their way, and George’s eyes flickered between the two of them.

“Don’t ask me, you’re the one that tapped me on the shoulder.” Hermione looked at him expectantly. George knew what was going on. He decided to play along with whatever his brother was up to.

He shook his head with a huff of a laugh and went back to looking at the forms. “You’re imagining things, Granger.”

Hermione frowned harder and went back to her stack of papers. She paused for a moment, then shook her head slightly.

Moments later, Fred, while looking completely unconcerned and occupied with his forms, bumped his shoe with Hermione’s.

Hermione turned to look at Fred.

George was becoming increasingly amused and found it harder to concentrate on his stack.

When she realized Fred was not going to look at her, she huffed and went back to looking at her papers. Her hair had started to frizz a bit.

When he was sure Hermione was completely engrossed in her stack of forms, George tapped her on the shoulder.

She gave a strangled groan and turned to Fred.

“Fred Weasley!”

“What?” He looked at her with a startled expression on his face.

“You know exactly what!” Her hair was sparking now.

He made a gesture with his free hand that meant he had no clue what she was talking about and Hermione took the stack of papers she had and smacked him on the shoulder.

George couldn’t help it anymore and started laughing.

Fred was quick to join him and Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them before dissolving into giggles.

The earlier tension from before was not forgotten, but the air was lighter.

* * *

Sometime in the late afternoon, Hermione was stirring a potion while simultaneously going over a checklist of supplies they’d need for the coming week. It was quite a sight that Fred walked into. Hermione sitting cross legged on the floor in the middle of the room with her hair twice its normal size, one arm stirring a caldron and the other holding a rapidly moving quill while piles of stuff surrounded her as if her beaded bag had exploded.

“I thought we already went through everything we’ll need.” Fred said crossing his arms.

“Just making sure.” She mumbled distractedly, marking something down.

Fred sighed. “You said that last time.” He tiptoed around piles of clothing and various potion bottles and crouched down next to where she was sitting.

She went to add another ingredient into the caldron and his hand caught hers pausing the motion. Her entire body was taught like a violin string, betraying her calm facade. His thumb started to rub circles on the back of her hand.

“We’ll be okay, Hermione. You don’t have to take full responsibility here.”

Her entire body seemed to deflate with his words.

“If I don’t then who will?” Her voice was soft and her eyes were glassy. She looked to him hoping he had an answer.

“No one. It’ll be how it’s meant to be.”

She sighed heavily and pulled her hand out of his grasp. He didn’t give her the answer she wanted to hear. She turned back to the caldron and dropped the powdery substance in.

“I need to finish this potion.” It was a defeated dismissal, but Fred wasn’t letting up this easy.

“What’s this potion for?”

“It’s antivenom.”

“For who?”

“Someone who gets bit by Nagini.”

It was Fred’s turn to sigh. He truly thought it was noble of her to try and save everyone she could, and he knew she knew the risks of meddling and making these decisions. He just wished she wasn’t so preoccupied with _fixing_ everything. He wished she’d let someone take the world off her shoulders.

He was coming to realize it wasn’t a battle he could win, he’d just be there to pick her back up when it crushes her.

“I’m going to kip on the couch for a while.” And before he could think too hard about it, he leaned over and lightly kissed her temple. He stood up and walked out trying not to feel pleased at the hitch in her stirring.

After Hermione’s brain finished short circuiting, she let out a sigh and thought about Fred’s words (and pushing that kiss to the back of her mind). She knew he was worried, George was too for that matter. They don’t want her taking responsibility for what’s to come. But what they don’t understand is that bad things are going to happen and she has the power to change them, and if she doesn’t, then that’s on her. Right?

Why else would she have been sent back? The Sands of Purpose. From what she understands, it’s the purpose of whoever is wearing the time turner. That’s why Rookwood’s idea didn’t work, because Hermione’s purpose was to avenge and make everything better. So now she’s back in time to make this future better. Then why the connection to Fred? It was true that she was specifically avenging Fred at the time, but why connect the two of them?

Hermione groaned and put her head in her hands. She’d thought this issue through over and over in circles the past few weeks and she’s no closer to a definite answer than she was when she arrived here.

She’d come to the conclusion to save everyone she could along the main path. She would continue along with Harry and Ron through the castle finding the horcruxes like she did before only this time she’d do everything she could to save people as she went. Her grieving heart tugged because she knew so many lives that could not be saved that way. But it was the only thing she could do. Harry will need her. And Fred and George will be with her. It will have to be enough.

She heaved a shaky sigh and bottled the antivenom. At least she is practically guaranteed to save Snape. She remembered watching him die. His final words. Final mission for Harry.

She pulled out her wand and magically packed everything away into her bag once more. She didn’t make it all the way through her checklist, but Fred was right, they’d checked and she’d triple checked before. It’s all there.

Tiredly, she walked out of the room and crept down the hallway. The late afternoon sun was casting a golden glow through the flat. She thought it was rather ethereal and not at all reflective of the emotions of the flat’s inhabitants.

She heard pans clanking and containers opening as she rounded the opening to the kitchen. She paused there, leaning against the mull, and watched George. She took in the tense set to his shoulders and his jerky movements, the unsteady way he poured tomato sauce into the pot and muscle jumping in his jaw. The way he’d occasionally look over at a photo on the wall of a redhead and a dark skinned girl laughing.

“She’ll be fine, you know.” She whispered trying not to startle him.

It didn’t work and he jumped, nearly flinging sauce everywhere.

“Granger!” He exclaimed.

“Shh. Fred is sleeping.” She shushed and leaned back enough so she could see the other redheaded prankster currently dead to world on the couch. His mouth was open a little and his hair was a mess. It reminded her of the mornings she woke up before him and could trace his features with her eyes.

“…off to the stars and no one would ever think to look for us! What do you say, Granger?”

Hermione turned back to George and frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Our elopement of course! You and Fred have loosened the leash, and now we can run away together. I can be devastatingly romantic when I want to be. We can do it, you and I-”

“Don’t you already have a girl to run away with?” She interrupted, amused by his outlandish proclamation.

At the mention of Angelina, his grin faltered slightly. He tried to laugh, but it was a hard sound.

“Ah, Granger, you know you’re the only one for me. I-“

“She’ll be fine, George, she makes it.” Hermione soothed.

“You can’t know that.” He finally dropped his act and turned back to making dinner.

“I do because I lived it-“

“Yes, I know. You’re from the future and in that future Angelina survived the battle. But you can’t guarantee that she’ll live this time.”

“But I can-“

“Nope. That’s not how life works, Hermione. You can’t decide that she’ll live. You could save her from one thing while putting her in the way of something else.”

Hermione realized that while George is speaking of Angelina, he’s also warning her about everyone else.

“Then what do I do?” She asked tiredly. The prospect of saving people and the consequences that follow always seems to gnaw at her, no matter the decisions she makes.

“ _We_ hope.” The voice startled her. She turned around to face the sleepy twin who had a sad smile.

“It’s all we really can do.”

* * *

After dinner, the three of them packed up everything that wasn’t already in Hermione’s bag and got ready to head out into the night.

The twins put on their dragon hide coats that they’d charmed black to offer cover from the night.

Hermione dawned her auror uniform that she’d arrived in and strapped on her thigh holster.

Wordlessly, they apperated to a muggle park and then to the Forrest of Dean and then to somewhere on the coast.

It was cold being so close to the water in April, but they didn’t set up a fire. Lee Jordan was already waiting for them. Fred had sent a patronus letting him know where to meet up and who their guest would be. George reached into Hermione’s bag and pulled out an ancient looking radio that had what looked like small satellite dishes on it. He whispered a code word into one of them and a light blinked on casting a red hue on their faces. They sat in a circle around the device and Fred waved his wand over it and a quiet tuning hum sounded.

Lee Jordan started the broadcast with an enthusiastic introduction thanking listeners for joining them.

Hermione had to close her eyes for the next section. She felt Fred take her hand. She remembered all those nights sitting in the tent with Harry and Ron in silence as the list of names was read off. Sometimes it was longer than others.

This night was a long list.

Fred squeezed her hand and then he spoke his part.

“Thank you, River. Now tonight, we don’t have Royal for an update on the muggle world, and we don’t have Romulus to introduce our Pal of Potter. So that honor goes to me. She’s a new guest, but you all know her. She’s got something important for all of us. So we’ll do our best to welcome Retrospect.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Thank you, Rapier.” She took a deep breath.

Originally, when Fred and George asked her to say something on Potterwatch, she thought about refusing. Harry was the one who could give an inspiring speech, not her. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized, she has something they all need to hear. It won’t matter what she says because they’ll hear the certainty in her voice. A certainty that’s there because she _knows_. Which goes with George’s very amusing (in his opinion) codename for her.

“Not too long ago, I was in your position. Listening to this broadcast, worrying and not knowing. And I know how that uncertainty can affect us.”

She thought of Ron and Harry arguing in a tent. Xenophillius after his daughter was taken.

“But this is it. It’s almost over. The fear. The worry. The doubt. We’ve all lost. All of us. Friends, family, o-ourselves.” Her voice cracked and she squeezed Fred’s hand harder.

“But we’re not done yet. There’s still hope. And we’re ready; we’re taking the fight to them. We’re not asking you to join us. But you’ll _know_. Be careful. Look out for each other. You’ll see the sign. It’ll be hard to miss.” She gave a wry grin to the boys sitting with her. They grinned back.

“This is the fight of our lives. And we’re going to win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading! Let me know what you think, I love to hear from you guys!  
> I'll try to get the next chapter out asap.  
> Happy new year, I wish you all the best for 2020!


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn’t as easy the second time around.

Of all the hardships that’s to come and horrors they’re about to go through, she can’t help but feel a little silly for feeling this way about pretending to be _her_ again. It was poetic, she thought, that the first hurdle in this fight is for Hermione to face her personal demon. Literally. By wearing her face. And staring at it in the mirror.

A face she hadn’t seen in person in almost a year, but a face that haunts her dreams constantly.

The first time, she didn’t stop to think, to ponder, to reflect. She was barely healed physically and ready to face the next battle. She had just wanted it over with. She didn’t stop to wonder about the pale skin with dark mark on its arm or the wild hair that was a dark reflection of her own at times. She especially didn’t think too hard about how it felt to hold that wand and the dark ichor seeping from it.

The worst part was that Bellatrix was beautiful.

It was tragic, in Hermione’s mind, that such beauty is buried under years of insanity. That those high cheekbones were sharp rather than sophisticated. That those striking eyes held such hatred. That the curve of her lips spewed such foil nothings. Her athletic figure was fashioned by duels to the death.

It’s what’s on the inside that counts, and inside she was dark.

Hermione gave a little laugh at the thought and watched the mirror in horror as Bellatrix’s features copied the movement.

Distantly she heard cackles mixing with her own laugh.

She shook her head. There are more important things to get through. Portraying Bellatrix once more is hardly a sacrifice considering what is yet to come.

Sacrifice. Harry’s sacrifice.

She shut her eyes and tried to breathe. One thing at a time.

She had missed Harry and Ron more than she thought she did. Arriving at Shell Cottage after a week of living in muggle hotels around Britain and camping in forests with the twins was like coming home after a vacation.

But coming home to find that someone had rearranged all the furniture.

They had stared at each other at first. Three feet of space between them, Hermione and the twins on one side, Harry and Ron on the other. The salty breeze helped her breathe easier, but the sand beneath her trainers kept shifting.

She looked them both up and down and felt a wave of sadness rush over her that was so heavy she felt tears prick her eyes and reached out to grasp Fred’s forearm. She ignored Ron’s sharp look at the action and cataloged the differences between these two boys and the ones she left behind.

Her Ron was overwrought with grief and PTSD. He walked like a titan carrying dark skies on his shoulders. She remembered their attempt at a relationship and how off it was. She remembers helping him though attacks and nightmares. She remembers snogging because they didn’t want to cry anymore. She knew they fell out of touch once she took his place in the aurors. And his slight resentment and self-hatred for it.

But now, this Ron doesn’t know all that they went through. He doesn’t know the suffocating weight of grief or the taste of firewhiskey and tears at 2:30 in the morning. He doesn’t know how helpless you can feel when your lungs won’t cooperate and the world is closing in on you. He doesn’t know that he won’t be able to follow Harry into the aurors. And he doesn’t know that it’ll be good for him in the long run.

And Harry. Oh, Harry.

He doesn’t know, yet, that his mentor raised him knowing he’ll have to walk into the forest, meet the man who took everything from him, and die to save everyone. Or that he’ll end up going to every funeral after the battle. That a man will come up to him one day and ask him if he would pose for a sculpture that will go in Godric’s Hollow next to his parents. He doesn’t know that he and Hermione had gone on a mission together chasing a death eater and spent the night in the tent again dancing to a muggle radio station like they had all those months ago. That he and Ginny were on a break and he looked at Hermione with the softest look before leaning down and kissing her. That they both burst out laughing and couldn’t stop because “it was like kissing my sister” and “you won’t tell Ginny, right?” He doesn’t remember that they were both broken but he was piecing himself back together.

What a difference a year could make.

She feels like a stranger. And she knows they’re thinking the same thing.

They’re looking at her outfit that they’ve never seen before. Muscles hiding underneath that were there when a month ago she’d been malnourished. A tougher stance that spoke volumes, but haunted look in her eyes that was louder.

She expected Ron to ask, but Harry spoke quicker.

“What was the spell Ron tried to cast on the train when we first met?”

“Sunshine, daisies, butter, mellow.” Her voice cracked and grin creept up the left side of her face. “Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

The twins burst out laughing because of “the good ol’ days” and “I can’t believe you fell for that, baby brother.” But Hermione took two steps and she was in their arms. They ignored her apologies and promises to explain later and simply held on to each other. For a moment it didn’t matter that she had traversed time or that they don’t know what’s to come or that people are going to die and there’s _nothing she can do_. It was just them against the world as it had been for years.

“You know, when I imagined you dressed up in tight leather, this isn’t what I had in mind.” Fred’s voice startled her out of her musings.

She tore her gaze away from the mirror to look at the redhead in the doorway.

“You might want to hold off on those fantasies because I did borrow some of this from Fleur.” Hermione gestured to the tight corset and wicked heels.

Fred made a face and she laughed.

“So you’re saying I can fantasize later?” Fred asked wiggling his eyebrows for effect.

Hermione shook her head smiling and swiped a pale hand with long fingernails through the air, waving him off and looked back into the mirror. She was surprised and creeped out by the blush on her visage’s face.

This… thing between the two of them had gotten stronger. And Hermione wasn’t talking about the bond. Or maybe she was. It was all confusing, but it seemed that the air between them whenever they were in the same room was palpable and thick. The space was charged with energy that felt like magic and she’d lock eyes with him and a heady feeling would take over, shortness of breath, lightheadedness, her pulse would race and she could hear it. She wonders if she’s sick. Maybe she’s just nervous about him and his fate.

There were more important things to think of anyway. Even if these past few week were the happiest and most alive she’d felt in years.

Fred, for his part, noticed the “thing” between him and it gave him hope. Relationships are a two way street and he often wonders if she knows, if she can feel the sexual tension between them. He practically chokes on it so she must right? George can’t help but point it out to his twin at every available opportunity. And if _George_ \- of all people- knows…

But Fred can’t let himself get distracted, there are more important things going on.

Fred thought about what was to come and what was going to take place that morning. Bill and Fleur had been happy to see Fred and George, and they were glad to see Hermione in good health. They told the couple that they would not be leaving early that morning and wouldn’t be returning. Fred could see the worried frowns and glances they’d give each other. No one told them, but they knew, this was it.

Fred walked over to Hermione and met her eyes- that weren’t hers- in the mirror.

“How are you holding up?” For once he was serious.

“I’m fine. Everything will go according to plan.” She gave a little nod.

“You’re not fine.” That made Hermione turn around and face him.

“And what do you want me to say? You have no idea what this is like for me. To be here. To do this again. To parade around as, as _her_ again. I-“ She cut herself off and took a deep breath.

Fred never really noticed until now just how short Hermione was. But when he doesn’t have to look down to meet her eyes, when he can look straight ahead and see how wrong it is to be staring into that face...

“So tell me.” Hermione’s eyes shot open and met his. “Tell me what it’s like. Let me help you.”

She opened her mouth to respond but a knock sounded and Griphook was standing there in the doorframe. He jerked his head to the side beckoning them to follow and stomped away.

“There’s no time.” Hermione said as she made her way around Fred leaving him to follow.

They met the others at the apperation point by Dobby’s grave. Harry was staring at the headstone with a sour twist to his mouth.

Hermione set about changing the boys’ appearances to look older and more menacing. Griphook climbed on Harry’s back. After she was done she appraised her work.

“Well none of you will make it on the cover of Witch Weekly that’s for sure.” She said as she tossed Harry the invisibility cloak.

The burly man with broad shoulders and a scar on his nose clutched his heart dramatically. “My life’s aspiration is ruined. What will Angelina think of me now?”

They all chuckled a little bit before remembering what they were there for. They looked at each other and came to a decision. After checking to make sure Harry and Griphook were completely covered, they turned on the spot and landed in front of the Leaky Caldron.

The small troop made their way through Diagon and Fred watched as people shied away and turned their heads in fear of their presence. Mainly Hermione’s.

“You!” An older man hobbled up to them looking straight at Hermione pointing his finger. “My children. My daughters. What has he done with them! You would kn-“

“You dare speak to me!” Hermione screeched in a startlingly accurate imitation of Bellatrix’s insane pitch. They tried not to flinch. “You dare speak that way to your betters!” She slashed her wand through the air in a show of power and swept the man aside without hurting him.

They carried on.

Fred noticed Ron giving a concerned look at Hermione and watched him look to George for answers but he just shook his head.

They were almost to Gringotts when a voice rung out behind them.

“Madame LeStrange! I must say I am surprised to see you out and about after that whole debacle at Malfoy Manor.” A man, clearly a death eater, said with a smug grin. “In fact I heard your wand was-“

“I have my wand right here, Travers.” Hermione spit out and twirled Bellatrix’s wand in her hand. “I would be careful what rumors you listen to. Your favor with the Dark Lord only goes so far and clearly not as far as mine.”

The man – Travers - clenched his jaw. “And who are these guys? A couple of strays?”

Hermione gave mad cackle. “How right you are! I picked them up fairly recently. New recruits. Foreign. Sympathetic to the cause. Don’t speak any English.” She finished with a pout.

Travers snorted. “And what are you and these… gentlemen doing in Diagon on this fine morning.”

“A trip to Gringotts by the Dark Lord’s command. He trusted me above all!” Hermione fawned.

“Right.” Travers rolled his eyes. “I have business there myself, mind if I join you?”

“You mustn’t! The Dark Lord will know you were here. You wouldn’t like it if he knew you knew what I know now will he?” Hermione asked manically.

Travers looked like he was going to protest before a small jolt went through him and he seemed confused.

“Fine, you go right ahead then. Have a nice day, Bellatrix.” And he turned and walked off.

They stood there for a moment watching him walk away confused by the abrupt departure but thankful none the less. Hermione quickly pivoted on her heel and began leading them to the bank once more.

They made it past the guards with some quick confundus charms. The other goblins paused their work to watch them with interest as they walked up to the counter.

Hermione tapped the marble surface in front of a goblin startling him.

“Madame Lestrange! How may I help-“

“I wish to enter my vault.” Hermione commanded.

“Do you have identification?”

“I’ve never been asked this before!” Hermione said outraged. “Will my wand suffice?”

“Of course.”

Hermione handed over the walnut wand and they watched the goblin inspect it.

“I see you’ve had a new wand made, Madame Lestrange.”

“Of course I haven’t. Don’t be a fool.”

Once again, the goblin was about to say something then his body gave a slight jerk.

“We will need the clankers.” He told another goblin and led them to the doors.

A goblin rushed toward them. ”Wait! There are instructions regarding the Lestrange vault!”

The two goblins had a hushed conversation.

Eventually the one from before said “I am aware, but Madame Lestrange wishes to see her vault.” And continued to lead them to the stone doors that led out of the hall.

Once the doors closed Harry threw off the invisibility cloak.

“They suspect us.” He said. He also explained about imperiusing Travers and the goblin. Everyone but Hermione and Griphook were taken by surprise but saw the necessity.

“So what do we do?” Ron asked.

“Can we go back out?” George wondered looking toward the doors they just came through.

“No, by now they’ll have guards after us. We continue on as planned.” Hermione said as she started to walk over to the tracks.

“We will still need Bogrod. I don’t have the authority to operate the carts, and there’s not enough room for everyone.” Griphook said as they followed Hermione.

“We’ll make it work.” Fred said climbing in after Ron. George followed and the three brothers were squished in the back. Harry and Hermione squeezed up front with the goblins.

Everyone protested this arrangement but shouts and the sounds of feet running behind them was enough to keep everyone quiet. The cart gave a lurch and they were off.

The cart sped deeper underground around stalactites and stalagmites and over underground lakes. It took turns at breakneck speeds taking them farther and farther.

Suddenly Griphook shouted “No!”

Water poured over them, the cold seeping into their bones making them shiver. The cart came to a halt, gave a groan and suddenly they were falling. Hermione frantically cast cushioning charms for everyone and they glided painlessly to the ground.

Hermione shook off the oversized robes, heavy with water. They landed with a slap on the ground leaving her in a slightly less oversized corset, undershirt, and trousers. She was relieved to be back in her own skin. The boys felt their faces realizing they were back to themselves as well.

“Thief’s Downfall!” Griphook said getting to his feet. “It washes away all enchantment, all magical conceal-“

“Concealment. Yes, yes. They know we’re here, they’re after us.” Hermione cut him off as she patted down her pockets making sure she had her wand and beaded bag. Griphook looked put out at being interrupted and the twins had to hold back an inappropriate laugh.

“Harry, cast the curse on Bogrod again. We’ll still need him to open the vault.” Hermione gestured for Griphook to lead the way.

After walking for a bit, Hermione’s feet were starting to ache from walking in the ill-fitting heels on the uneven ground. She didn’t complain, but Fred’s knowing smirk and offer to carry her spurred her to walk faster. She immediately stepped on a loose rock and gave a delicate squeak as she lost her balance. She would have fallen over if Fred hadn’t caught her.

If it weren’t for the sound of their pursuers or George’s laughter. Or for Ron and Harry’s presence. Or for the task at hand, she would have found this moment to be terribly cliché. Then again her life was never meant to be a romance and even though she reveled in the feel of Fred’s lithe body against hers and the sparkle in his eye at the moment, there were more important things.

And then Fred kissed her forehead as he let her go and she promptly forgot all of them.

“So how are we going to get out of here?” Ron’s voice filtered in through her haze and she caught Fred and George’s exciting grins that only got wider when they felt the heat of flames.

Griphook pulled the clankers out of the worn leather bag and Hermione felt a familiar rush of compassion for the mistreated creature. George squeezed her shoulder and gave her a sad smile. She straightened her spine. They were going to break the creature out anyway. She’ll throw a good word at Charlie later that there’s a pale, blind dragon flying around Scotland and it’ll be alright.

They made their way around the recoiling dragon, ignoring the resounding metallic clanging from the clankers, and waited as Harry ordered Bogrod to place his hand on the door.

Upon entering, Hermione warned every one of the curses placed on the treasure and cast impervious charms on them hoping it’ll be enough. The door closed behind them with a bang. They slowly made their way deeper into the vault searching for the cup. Hermione cursed herself for not being able to remember which pile it had been on top of.

“There!” Harry cried, point up at it. The Hufflepuff cup. Belonged to Helga. Possessed by Hepzibah. Stolen by Tom.

“But how will we get it without touching anything?” George asked.

“ _Accio_!” Fred tried unsuccessfully.

“Hermione. Hand me the sword and I’ll be able to loop it through the handle-“

“No, I have a better idea.” She said eyeing Griphook’s greedy expression. She won’t let him betray them this time.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a heavy tome. She flicked her wand and levitated it toward the top of the pile. They all watched as the book floated closer, knocked the cup from behind and sent it tumbling down toward them. The cup landed at their feet and skidded toward Ron who, in his haste to avoid touching it, jerked back and bumped into a pile of gold sending pieces cascading down and activating the curses.

“Nice Ron!”

“It’s not _my_ fault!”

Hermione sighed. _Boys_. She allowed herself a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose before swooping down, throwing the cup into her bag, and burning her hand in the process.

It was a blur from there. Everyone was shouting, skin was burning, the goblins were lost in a sea of treasure, guards were trying to get in from outside. Somehow, they were able to make it on the back of the dragon, dodging curses and breaking the chains. Griphook was there. Not surprising considering the sword was still tucked away in Hermione’s bag. Dusty, torn wings were flapping and Hermione shot a bombarda maxima at the stone ceiling making their exit.

They flew for a long time. The excitement and adrenaline died down. Hermione passed around burn cream she’d made precisely for this occasion. Other than a few words assuring Harry they had the cup and giving Griphook the sword, no one spoke. No one wanted to break the air. Hermione had long since threw the pair of heels over the side of the dragon and put on more comfortable footwear. Without really thinking about it, she leaned her head against Fred’s shoulder, closed her eyes and drifted, feeling the cold air rushing past them. She missed the looks shot between the twins and Ron and Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is. Let me know what you guys think, yeah?  
> I'm in love with the idea that Hermione blue screens whenever Fred does something romantic. Hermione.exe has stopped working.  
> School is busy right now so the next update probably won't happen until spring break. The good news is that there's a possibility I could graduate early so all my hard work could pay off!  
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, yeah? Well, here we are. I've got anywhere from 5-7 chapters after this planned and we're done!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy and are staying safe and healthy.

Hermione tried desperately to avoid thinking about what was going to take place that night.

Half of her face was warm where it was pressed against Fred’s – surprisingly bony, but still soft – shoulder. The other half was chilled and starting to redden from the wind rushing past them. Slight hitches and corrections in movement from the dragon jostled them every now and then making her clench her muscles to stay in place. She felt Fred rest his cheek on the crown of her head.

In a few moments, in a few minutes, in an hour, they would have to plummet over the side of the dragon. Harry will collapse because Tom will know. They’d apperate to Hogsmeade and sneak past death eaters. Aberforth will say his piece and Neville will lead them to the room of requirement.

She’d see friends she’s known for years and friends she hadn’t seen in one. She’ll have to look them in the eyes and accept that she _can’t help them_. She’ll follow Harry into war again.

She opened her eyes but didn’t look up. She grabbed Fred’s hand in hers and felt him squeeze twice. She traced paths between the freckles on his arms with her eyes. She could feel the others’ gazes on her from time to time but she didn’t feel like deciphering who it was. With her other hand, she gave in and began to trace the veins on the back of his hand.

“Is it just me or is the ground getting closer?” Ron asked.

Hermione squeezed Fred’s hand. She never liked heights.

“I say we jump when it gets low enough!” Harry suggested.

So many years of watching Harry on a broom high in the sky right before he falls.

“Straight into the water before it realizes we’re here.” He continued.

It was always the fall. And the landing that never comes.

She took a deep breath and let go of Fred’s hand. He met her eyes and she nodded. His mouth twitched and mirth danced in his eyes. Her eyes narrowed. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

She let a slow smirk crawl across her features. Her eyes never left his. She heard George cough a laugh somewhere towards the front of the dragon.

“Now!” Harry yelled.

She pushed Fred.

He fell backwards off the dragon. His face made her laugh, but it was short lived. Fred grabbed her arm and pulled her with him.

“Fred!”

They splashed into the water and Hermione had to hold in a gasp at how cold it was. She kicked as hard as she could until she broke the surface. She looked around and found Ron and Harry treading water. George came to the surface. Griphook was already making for the shore.

“Fred?” She looked around but couldn’t find him.

Something grabbed her around the waist and pulled her under.

She kicked and pushed against whatever it was that held her. When she felt the familiar beater’s build she kicked harder and he let go. They swam to the surface.

“That was a bit uncalled for.” Fred said as he gasped in air, coughing and holding his stomach where she kicked him.

“You idiot!” She splashed water at him and he spluttered and coughed.

She could hear George’s laughter from the shore and set off in that direction. The heavy clothing from the remains of her disguise wasn’t helping. She could hear Fred following behind her.

They made it to the shore and Hermione quickly rid herself of the rest of her Bellatrix get up.

“If anything it was your fault.” Fred reasoned.

She threw her corset at him.

“Oi! Don’t give me that look! You pushed me off a dragon!”

“Because you were going to push me!”

Fred paused.

She shoved her hand into her beaded back and began passing out dry clothing to the other boys who were trying to hold in their laughter. Well, George gave up on trying and was openly giggling like a school girl. Hermione was going to tease him later.

“Well, that’s beside the point, innit?” Fred took off his wet shirt and let it fall with a wet slap. He looked around. “Where’s the goblin?”

“He disappeared as soon as he made it to the shore.” Harry explained as he pulled on his new clothes.

“So now we don’t have a sword, the ruddy thing took off with it,” Ron fumed.

“He’s not a thing, Ron,” Hermione lectured out of habit. She conjured a sheet to hang around her as she changed into her dragon hide armor. She didn’t care if it practically screamed that she was not from this time, she was not about to go into battle in a jumper and jeans.

She vanished the sheet started putting things back in her bag. She noticed Fred, shirt still off, running his hands through his wet hair. The auburn tresses, dark from the water, would fall limp back into his eyes after each pass through his fingers.

“Are you a wizard or are you not?” She waved her wand, drying his hair for him. She knew he didn’t like wearing a shirt with wet hair because the water would make his collar wet and cold.

Fred nodded his thanks and threw his shirt on. Hermione did _not_ watch and she was _not_ strangely disappointed when his shirt was properly in place.

“And you then?” He walked over and gestured to her own wet mop of curls.

“It’s all tangled by now, drying it by magic will just make it worse.” She closed her bag with a sigh and shoved it in her coat. “I should’ve braided it.”

“Let me,” He stepped closer, hands reaching for her hair.

She slapped him away. Harry and Ron were watching them. _Again._ “There’s no time. I’ll just let it air dry.”

“We’ve got a bit of time.” He looked up at the sky. “Sun isn’t going down for a while yet. You said we’ll have to rely on the night to cover us getting into Hogsmeade.”

She cocked one hip to side and thought. He wasn’t wrong. She checked her watch. Late afternoon. They were ahead of schedule. He was right, they’d be waiting a bit. Well, that is if Harry lets them. Tom will find out soon and Harry will want to act fast.

“So what’s all this then?” Ron asked.

Hermione blinked and looked over at him. Ron and Harry were standing together, arms crossed, and looking directly at her. The giddy amusement from before was gone and in place was a seriousness that she didn’t think she’ll like. It was too similar of their third year when she’d gotten Harry’s broom confiscated and they’d turned their backs on her.

“What-“

George was studiously avoiding everyone’s gaze. Fred placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I think what Ron means is that you’re different,” Harry began, his voice tense. “You disappeared from the cottage and you returned looking healthier and with armor and Fred and George – _who now know about our mission.­_ But there’s ‘no time to explain’ because we had to break into bloody Gringots.” His voice increased to where he was nearly shouting with frustration.

She took a step back and bumped into Fred.

“Not to mention how you’re now such great friends with Fred.” Ron spoke quietly but he might as well have shouted.

She sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. She knew she’d have to explain. She knew from the beginning that they’d know right away something was odd. She never stopped for a moment to think about how the hell she’d actually explain it. It was much easier when she was bleeding and had sand and glass in her stomach as evidence.

“I- I- Oh for God’s sake! It sounds mad.” She turned around and walked away to go sit on a rock.

The heat from the sun and their scrutiny was making her hot despite the cold spring air. She took her jacket off and threw it on the rock next to her. Her hair fell against her back making the fabric of her plain tank top wet and stick to her skin. She could understand why Fred found it annoying. She balanced her elbows on her knees and put her face in her hands.

She didn’t know what she would do if Harry and Ron didn’t believe her.

She felt fingers in her hair and looked over her shoulder to see Fred starting the long process of detangling her wet curls. She also saw Harry and Ron approaching cautiously.

“I time traveled.” She whispered, barely audible.

“What like third year? I thought those were only for a few hours.” Harry asked.

“We destroyed the time turners, ‘Mione.” Ron tried to explain.

“Not all of them.” She focused on Fred’s long fingers in her hair, soothing. Keeping her together. “A rogue death eater got a hold of a prototype that held the Sands of Purpose.”

“And what do the Sands of Purpose do?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know.” Hermione said quietly. She closed her eyes and imagined what Fred’s fingers looked like carding between her dark curls. How the freckles would pop in contrast to his pale skin. How the veins she traced mere moments ago would move with his hands.

“All I know is that a death eater put a time turner around me, it exploded, and I woke up at the twin’s flat confused with a new tattoo.” She smiled falsely. She clenched her hands together.

“Hermione, how do you not know-“

“Because I got thrown back into the middle of this bloody war!” She stood and faced them. A knot in her hair pulled harshly at the motion. “Because I was almost done! Because I couldn’t research it! Because Hermione Granger doesn’t know everything!”

Everyone was silent. Birds chirps in the distance. The dragon on the other side of the lake shook out its wings. Hermione’s breathing was heavy.

“Hermione how far did you come back from?” Harry asked, his green eyes intense as they locked with hers.

“A year.” A tear traced her cheek and she swatted it away.

“Impossible! There’s no way-“

“In a few moments, Harry’s scar will hurt and Tom will know what we’re after. The last one’s at Hogwarts and then it’s just the snake.” She choked because it’s _not_ the last one.

She turned back around and sat heavily on the rock. Fred detangled the rest of the knots and set about drying and braiding her hair. George sat next to her and would occasionally bump his shoulder into hers. He continued until she cracked a smile.

Harry let out a shout and fell to his knees. Her smile dropped. She could hear Ron tending to him. She let out a sigh. The sun still hadn’t set. Harry would want to move fast. They won’t have the cover of night. But if they waited too long, Hogwarts won’t be ready for battle. Distantly she felt the twins each take one of her hands. She would’ve pushed them away, but she knew she’d have to be strong all night. She could allow this small weakness.

“Hermione,” Harry walked over to her. She tilted her head and met his eyes over her shoulder. “Do we win tonight?”

She nodded.

“Let’s keep it that way. Let’s not change anything.”

She smiled sadly. “I have to. I already have.” Her eyes flicked to the twins.

“Hermione,” He sounded agonized and panicked. He always was when coming out from a vision with Tom. “We can’t jeopardize anything.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Her eyebrows knit together. “We’ll still win. And I can still save people.”

Fred coughed and opened his mouth to speak.

“That’s not on you, Granger.” George spoke faster.

She’d grown tired of hearing the same argument for weeks. She just wanted this night to be over so she’d never hear it again. No matter who they lost.

Her stomach clenched and she squeezed her eyes shut. She shouldn’t think like that.

She heard gravel crunching beneath boots as Harry turned to leave. She opened her eyes and debated a moment on what to tell him. Hermione stood up to go with him. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a fierce hug.

“Harry, I’m so sorry.” She willed her tears to stay behind her eyelids. She felt she was apologizing for so much. Everything they’ve gone through together. That she can’t be the same Hermione for him. That they will lose people tonight that will be out of her control despite her best efforts. That she can’t tell him that he’ll have to sacrifice himself. And that makes her no better than the mentor that betrayed him.

She’d looked into it after the war ended. If there had been anything they could’ve done differently to get the horcrux out without his willing sacrifice. She came up blank at every turn and Harry eventually had to tell her to stop dwelling on what ifs.

“It’ll be alright, ‘Mione.” He hugged her back just as fiercely.

“Oi! We need a plan! And I’m sure, Hermione’s got one!” Ron called.

Hermione let go of Harry and swept some stray curls from her face. The weight of her braid hung between her shoulder blades. The wind blew making the wet spot on the back of her shirt colder. She shivered.

Fred and George came up on either side of her. The rooks to her queen, strong and protective. She tried not to think about what that made Harry and Ron. Or how she was no better than Dumbledore. Moving pieces in place, setting up pawns.

Fred handed her her jacket and she shrugged it on. The sun was dipping lower in the sky. Had time really passed so quickly?

“Hogsmeade. We sneak past the death eaters and make it into the castle,” She stated.

Ron frowned, thinking it over. “We’d have to find a way to sneak up to the castle, then. By now all the secret passageways will be blocked or guarded.”

“Not all of them.”

* * *

Despite his best efforts, his boots still scuffed and clicked on the cobblestone street. Hermione had put him and his twin under disillusionment charms while Harry and Ron were under the cloak. Fred liked to think she was punishing them slightly. He kicked a rock and cursed himself internally as it rolled and bounced noisily to the side.

“Hermione, I really don’t think-“

The blur that was the curly haired witch whirled around.

“Shush! You don’t speak. You can’t speak- you can’t speak when you’re invisible!” She hissed lowly at the boys. Her frustration was clear. They’d been walking for a while and had taken too many turns for her to claim she knows where she’s going.

Fred heard quiet thwaps of a hand hitting the fabric of the cloak. He held in his sniggers.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” She grumbled. She was closer to Fred now. If he held out his arm he could reach her. He kept his hands at his sides.

They continued walking, searching for the back entrance of the Hog’s Head. Or Aberforth’s house. If they were different. Fred had the feeling that Hermione didn’t quite know for sure.

“All I’m saying is: the sun’s gone down, and Tom is on the move, and,” Ron paused. “Maybe you’re wrong.”

Fred knew Ron had a death wish.

The Hermione blur whirled again and Fred was actually worried for a moment that they would be discovered.

Before she could say anything, the door next to them opened and they all stilled.

A pale stripe of light beamed onto the filthy cobble alleyway illuminating the space were their feet would be. A large shadowy figure stood backlit in the doorway. Distantly, they could hear the death eaters cackling and talking at the Three Broomsticks. A cat hissed from somewhere behind them.

“Potter?” The silhouette of a man whispered.

Fred’s heart pounded and he was sure it was beating loud enough to give them away. His lungs burned from his careful breathing.

“Get in here quick,” The man said, voice low and hoarse. “Patrol’ll come by soon enough.”

The Hermione shaped blur moved with no hesitation and that was all it took for Fred to follow her through the door.

The door closed behind them and the man, who Fred is willing to bet is Aberforth, locked and bolted it. Harry and Ron pulled the cloak off and Fred felt the tell-tale cold egg of his disillusionment charm falling away.

“You bloody fools. What were you thinking, coming here?” Fred could see the resemblance to their Headmaster. “Making all that noise. Did you want to die faster?”

As he usually did when an authority figure scolded him and his twin, Fred tuned him out and only listened with half an ear. He observed their surroundings quickly spotting the portrait of a girl Hermione described. Ron’s stomach growled and Fred wondered if there was any food. Or would it be better not to eat before a battle? Did it matter all that much anyway?

“I disarmed it.”

Fred tuned back in at Hermione’s voice. She had her hands on her hips, back straight, and chin tilted up. He grinned. It was one of his favorite poses of hers. She got the same look every time she had to explain something that was elementary to her.

“You,” Aberforth gestured his hand up and down Hermione. “Disarmed a death eater’s caterwauling charm.”

“It’s a _caterwauling charm_. An infant could do it.”

Fred snorted. He walked over to his twin who was sitting at the wooden table off to the side, fiddling with something in his hands. Fred lit the lamp and sat down. The chair groaned under his weight. He rolled his neck and sighed and the satisfying pops.

“Alright there, Georgie?” He spoke quietly. He noticed that he was holding a photograph in his hands, fingers playing with the corners. It was the same photo that had sat in their kitchen for over a year.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” Fred watched him slip the photograph into his pocket spelled with a sticking charm.

Fred only heard bits and pieces of the conversation taking place. Dobby, a mirror, doe patronus. Fred just wanted the night to be over with. He felt like a coiled spring. Excess energy pent up, adrenaline making him restless. There was going to be a _battle_ and they were _sitting_.

A battle he would die in.

He looked over at his twin who was watching the trio talk to Aberforth. Hermione mentioned briefly that George was a wreck afterward. That he was a shell of what he used to be.

Fred couldn’t imagine it. Ever since they were born they’d been together and Fred has only ever seen George full of life and happiness. Even when he was upset or down, there was still some part of him that kept him afloat.

Aberforth was explaining about Ariana, but Fred didn’t particularly care. Hermione told them the basics of what happened all those years ago. The death of a sibling. Fred never entertained the idea.

“I’m not going to say goodbye.” His twin turned his head and looked at him. “It doesn’t feel right. Because I’ll always be there.”

George frowned. “Fred?”

Harry and Aberforth pulled their attention away. They were practically shouting at that point. That this was war and Harry knew, had known, it was either him or Tom. Fred didn’t really know what he thought. Harry was a little brother to him, and Fred trusted Hermione implicitly when she said Harry would survive. But Dumbledore… He knew Hermione had a bad taste in her mouth thinking Dumbledore, as great as he is and as much as he loved Harry, still groomed them to fight.

“We need to get into Hogwarts.”

The girl in the painting walked away.

And maybe Dumbledore did love Harry. Fred looked at his twin who’d been distracted from their earlier conversation. He looked at Hermione who compulsively checked her watch and pursed her lips, eyes flicking to the, now empty, painting every so often. Maybe love is powerful, but maybe it isn’t enough sometimes. Other factors are at play.

The painting swung open and Neville stood there, worse for wear with a huge grin.

“I knew you’d come! _I knew it, Harry!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo. I did it. Despite not being a part of the Supernatural fandom (I dropped off around Season 8?) I finally broke down and read Twist and Shout. I sobbed worse than Endgame. "I can dig Elvis."  
> But then I made it so much worse because I listened to This is Gospel on repeat while reading.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I'll see you with the next update whenever!


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